


The Saga of the Ash Mystic

by Zalphon



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls Online, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Elder Scrolls: Legends
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 21:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 36,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19838764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zalphon/pseuds/Zalphon
Summary: The Sixth House is known to be home to horrors that most dare not speak of, but when Nevena Dals infiltrated the Sixth House Base of Kirinibbi, she never anticipated coming to meet a creature that would change her life forever.  Now that she's back with the rest of society, she's finding that something's not right and she keeps yearning to go find the creature that changed her life.





	1. Part I: The Kirinibbi Report

  1. **Introduction**



Over the past eleven months, I have been embedded in the operations of a Sixth House base in the Ascadian Isles region and have been involved in numerous actions against the good peoples of Morrowind as a result of my undercover status, but I have also gained a great deal of information about the Divine Disease and the Sixth House as a whole. Unfortunately, my research was intended to take place over an eighteen-to-twenty-four month period, but my cover was compromised after eleven months when I attempted to protect Dagoth Cerebel from Dagoth Milos.

In the following pages are the details of the operations I have taken part in, the names of my co-conspirators.

  1. **Timeline of My Infiltration into Sixth House Base: Kirinibbi**



  * **Pre-Infiltration (11 Frostfall 3E 424 – 27 Rain’s Hand 3E 425):** I relocated from my station in Vivec to Balmora where Temple Intelligenmoving ce suspected a Sixth House Cult was operating. My investigation led me to becoming closely acquainted with Hlavora Andalas, a local woman suspected of trafficking in Sixth House paraphernalia.



Over the period between Sun’s Dusk and Morning Star, Hlavora gave me a mix of basic smuggling tasks such as delivering skooma to her clients throughout town. Caius Cosades, an Imperial living on the east side, and Habasi, a Khajiit with ties to the Thieves’ Guild, were the two largest purchasers; I suspect both of them are involved in street-level dealing.

It wasn’t until I had proved myself with the drug trafficking that I was finally entrusted with the more delicate trafficking like ebony, glass, and dwemer artifacts, which frequently involved making runs to Hla Oad for Dalam Gavyn, Relam Arinith, and Llemisa Marys, a trio of Camonna Tong operatives smuggling it to the mainland from Hla Oad. 

Eventually, Hlavora invited me to start doing the real work. The real work involved smuggling Sixth House artifacts to the local operatives of the town (who would later be recalled to Kirinibbi with Hlavora and myself). Over the following months, I moved more Sixth House paraphernalia through Balmora than I had seen before in my life. My logs include: 36 Ash Statues, 18 Sixth House Amulets, 1 Sixth House Gavel, and 240 pounds of Corprus Meat. 

On 27 Rain Hand 3E 425, Hlavora gathered the lot of us about two miles east of Balmora where we were met by an Ash Poet and two Ash Zombies. The Ash Poet I would come to know as Dagoth Milos and one of the Ash Zombies I later came to know as Dagoth Cerebel. 

Dagoth Milos said that we would no longer be operating out of Balmora and that it was time for our cell to return to Kirinibbi. He also was curious as to who I was, but Hlavora vouched for me. It is good for that, because otherwise I would have been killed.

  * **Infiltration (27 Rain’s Hand 3E 425 – 23 First Seed 3E 426):** My initial experience with Kirinibbi was uncomfortable to say the least. There is a stench of death and rot that radiates from deep within the bowels of this profane place and there is a white noise of pained moaning from the corprus creatures. 



My initial days were kept in confinement with the other agents of our terrorist cell while they prepared for us and during this time, we were fed exclusively strips of tumorous flesh carved from the corprus beasts that roamed near the surface of the cave. We were blindfolded, gagged, bound, and generally left to rot except when we would be force-fed the meat. It wouldn’t be until a few days after our initial arrival that we would be free to roam the lower levels of Kirinibbi, but even then, we found ourselves frequently under the watchful eye of Dagoth Milos.

Dagoth Milos took great care to ensure we were left unharmed by the others, but it was clear that we were his projects. He had carefully orchestrated and constructed this cell starting with Hlavora to see if it would be an efficient use of his time; I still am not certain of his evaluation, but I do know that there is no creature I have ever seen more soulless than he. He had an aura about him that seemed to kill hope wherever he went and I feared him, I feared him even more than Dagoth Urik, the leader of Kirinibbi whose name was only spoken in hushed whispers, because Dagoth Urik was distant—he was a horror far away, but Dagoth Milos was overseeing every step I took and he made sure we all knew that every step could be our last if he willed it and it was only by the grace of the Sharmat that his hand was stayed for us, for he considered us to be sub-prime life—unworthy of receiving the blessing of the Sixth House—the Divine Disease. 

We were tasked with basic functions like tending to the “Lost” (that was their terminology for the Corprus Beasts) and retrieving supplies from Balmora, but ultimately, we were given a large degree of autonomy with our day-to-day functions so long as we remained within the lower levels of Kirinibbi. 

I used this time to get to know the local Ash Creatures and to really study them, especially the Ash Zombie that would become Dagoth Cerebel. While most of the Ash Zombies had demonstrable levels of neuroticism and elevated levels of fear at all times, he did not. He had a high degree of serenity about him and felt no fear; this made him a key target for Dagoth Milos’ abuses, as Dagoth Milos did not appreciate the fact that one of his subordinates did not fear him.

Over the following months, Dagoth Cerebel began development the proboscis characteristic of an Ash Poet, but multiple simultaneously. I had never heard about this phenomenon before, but I documented it thoroughly. I noticed however that his skull began to crack and fall away entirely until from his neck was a bloom of these proboscides. I had never seen anything like it before and haven’t seen anything like it since.

Eventually the upper-half of his chest gave way to these massive proboscides and his legs could no longer support the weight—breaking beneath him and leaving him almost entirely immobile. I was terrified of this creature and its existence even stirred Dagoth Urik from his meditation. Dagoth Urik and the other leaders of Kirinibbi retreated to his chambers and I was left there in a mix of terror and mesmerization at the grotesque nature of this creature which seemed to be nothing more than a writhing mass of tentacles sprouting forth from the broken stump of what was once a man. That was when he spoke to me for the first time.

Dagoth Cerebel spoke to me, not with a mouth, nor with word, but through waking dreams—forced imagery. It was an assault on my psyche the first time I experienced it, but though it felt like a penetration of the most personal nature—I could not turn away from it or even try to block him out, but I didn’t want to either. Partially because it was something that defies description and partially because there was a certain closeness—a bond—that also can not be put into words, only experienced. 

I felt a unity with the Afflicted—a oneness—I felt the heartbeat of every creature with the Divine Disease and I saw through their eyes; I felt the air in their lungs and the pain of their tumors. I felt it all and it all felt me and that was only possible through Dagoth Cerebel. He saw through me in my entirety and he knew that my intent here was not genuine, but he did not warn Urik or the others, instead, he became my mentor and my teacher.

Each day after my duties, I would find myself meditating before the Ash Mystic as he had become known as; he was the first of his kind as far as I can tell. And each day I would meditate before him, he would take from me my shape and force me into the bodies of the Afflicted; he would show me what it is to be one of the Lost and what it is to be one of the Ascended. He showed me how to hear the thoughts of the Afflicted and how to feel the influence of the Sharmat without actually having been touched by him.

Dagoth Cerebel became my friend and so much more than that. Though it is heresy to confess, I can not deny that I felt some sense of attraction to him. Not to his physical form, but to what was trapped within—the infinite, all-reaching mind of his. It was as though he had tapped into the Sharmat’s mind itself and his body couldn’t contain the horrific power contained within, but all the same, Dagoth Cerebel was more than a man. I dare say he had reached for apotheosis, intentionally or otherwise, and failed, but I could not help my attraction to his sheer strength of will and the presence he commanded throughout the House.

But things changed one day when Dagoth Milos came for Dagoth Cerebel. Dagoth Milos came with intent to kill Dagoth Cerebel and though I tried to stop it, Dagoth Cerebel flooded my mind with agony until I was powerless to move, but I watched as Dagoth Milos cut into the writhing mass and all things ceased to be for a single moment. It was like the universe stuttered, again, only for a single moment, but when it came back into being, none were to be found. No traces of the Sixth House base existed except for the cave it resided in, but the stench, the pained groans, those I came with—all were gone. It was as though Dagoth Cerebel had willed it to stop existing, all of it, and I believe it was to protect me. I still do not understand it, but I know that I did not dream or hallucinate what I experienced—I know it was real and my logs prove it.


	2. Part II: A Treatise on the Divine Disease and Sixth House Ecology

**THE FOLLOWING TEXT IS BASED ON CLASSIFIED INFORMATION PERTAINING TO THE KIRINIBBI INCIDENT AND SHOULD BE DISPERSED ONLY TO THE CONVENING CURATE COUNCIL OF 3E 426 OR TO PERSONS APPROVED BY SCRIBE DIVINER DOLYN ARAM.**

**A Treatise on the Divine Disease and Sixth House Ecology**

_By Nevena Dals, Scribe Adept_

I have elected to write my Curate Thesis on the Sixth House and have done extensive research both within the Grand Library of Vivec and in the field in order to gain enough relevant data in order to be able to prepare this for the convening Curate Council of 3E 426. I would like to preface this with a statement of my gratitude for taking the time to read my thesis and allowing me the opportunity to have an oral defense. Thank you.

  1. **The Divine Disease**



My initial foray into the causal nature of the Divine Disease was less than successful in no small part due to lack of proper background knowledge in the field of etiology and to a lesser extent, its parent field of pathology. 

My research into pathology helped me learn the basic differences between the three primary classes of disease that exist in the Vvardenfell District:

  * **Common Disease**



  * **Blight Disease**



  * **The Divine Disease**



I will begin by looking at the root causes of Common Diseases (e.g. Wither and Yellow Tick). Diseases are a result of Lorkhan’s power, albeit not by his direct action. Lorkhan’s death resulted in a great amount of cosmic energy and some of it dissipated into the void and some was channeled by the different et’Ada. 

Peryite was one such and in his aims to seize power over the mortal world, he took what he could of Lorkhan’s energies and created from it the first illness and cast it upon the world. He did this not out of malice in particular, but out of a desire to enforce order upon the world, which it was quite effective at for a long time until we learned to counteract these diseases.

Blight Diseases are a bit different though. They take the basic mold of disease as created by Peryite from the Lorkhanic energies, but they are pushed through a lens of the Sharmat’s energies which serves to not only modify them, but charges them with a divine power. This, I believe, is due in no small part to the fact that the Sharmat’s energies are largely corrupted Lorkhanic energies and the Blight diseases are actually equal in strength to the first diseases created by Peryite before the Lorkhanic energies waned from them.

Now we come upon the Divine Disease which isn’t actually a disease at all in the sense we think about diseases. That has been our misunderstanding in regards to it, because it’s not actually a disease like the kind engineered by Peryite following Lorkhan’s death. 

The Divine Disease is different entirely; it is a metaphysical beacon of sorts that serves as a receiver for the Sharmat’s energies. The Divine Disease doesn’t affect the host at all; it’s the Sharmatic energies that affect the host. The Host is forced to surrender to the Sharmatic energies or their body will begin to undergo the violent metamorphosis into one of the Lost.

What this means is that if we are to save those afflicted by the Divine Disease, then we need to figure out how to create a psychic shell to encapsulate them in, but even this is only a temporary measure. I hope that further research into the Divine Disease provides an opportunity to break the connection.

  1. **Sixth House Ecology**



My experience in Kirinibbi led me to understand that the Sixth House has a very carefully designed hierarchy based primarily around levels of “ascendance”. 

  * **The Lost:** At the bottom of the hierarchy of the Sixth House lie the Lost. They stand even below the Cultists because they are those who have allowed to experience the Sharmatic energies and ultimately proven unworthy of truly internalizing them. This inability to embrace the Sharmatic energies proves to be their downfall and results in them being used largely as attack dogs and a food source for the Sixth House. 



One of my duties during my infiltration of Kirinibbi was carving the tumors off of them to feed those in our base. There is a careful art to carving them, because if you cut too deep then you can damage the host and possibly kill them, so the trick is carefully filet off strips of flesh. They will still feel the pain, but it won’t kill them and they will heal in time. 

It should be noted that the Lost are looked upon with great pity by those in the Sixth House; they are the ones who will never find their way home and will languish in agony until their mortal coil is finally severed. Even Dagoth Milos took great care to ensure we knew how to properly carve them, not only to not damage them, but to ensure we cut largely tumorous flesh to ensure it would hurt them less.

  * **Cultists:** Cultists is a broad term, but it was given to those of us who had not yet been given the Divine Disease. We were largely dismissed by Dagoth Milos, but some of the other Ash Poets took great care to see to it that we were adequately cared for and instructed. Some of them, such as Dagoth Quorin, took an almost fraternal tone towards us and saw us as their little siblings who were yet to be fully inducted into the family.



  * **Ash Slaves:** The Ash Slaves served largely as the rank-and-file of the House, although I did not see many of them during my time at Kirinibbi. They were those who had past the test that the Lost had failed; they had internalized the Sharmatic energies and were on the first steps towards the ascendance that everyone in the House sought.



Physiologically, the only major differences I noted between them and healthy Dunmer is the fact that their eyes shrivel and fall out. It doesn’t seem to impact their ability to see.

Psychologically, they are frequently concerned with the geometry of architecture. They frequently pace back and forth and trying to find the greatest “acoustic space” from which they can hear the Sharmat’s whispering in their ears. It is obsessive and actually quite similar behavior to that of a Skooma addict.

  * **Ash Zombies:** The Ash Zombies were the veteran rank-and-file of the House and they were fewer. Unlike the Ash Slaves, the Ash Zombies have found their “greatest acoustic space” but it’s when they find this space that they are actually deafened to the Sharmat. This is incredibly psychologically damaging to the Ash Zombie and actually results in a psychosis as they’re unable to deal with it.



During this time, large parts of their skull become ultra-brittle and dry out. They eventually fall out entirely leaving a large, empty cavity. This stage goes on until the Ash Zombie learns to live without the Sharmat’s whispering and develop a degree of autonomy. 

Physiologically, they are actually quite dangerous. While they lack the magical aptitude of Ash Slaves, they are surprisingly strong and are incredibly vicious. It is highly advised to give Ash Zombies a great deal of distance and if forced to engage them, to do so at range.

Psychologically, they are incredibly afraid because they can no longer hear the Sharmat who has been a constant presence within their mind since they first became infected with the Divine Disease. They frequently see themselves as having earned his wrath and believe they are forsaken despite still being welcomed by the Sixth House with open arms. 

  * **Ash Poets:** When an Ash Zombie develops autonomy, it begins the first real steps towards ascendance and taps into the Sharmat’s energies without them being actively directed towards them. This results in the formation of a proboscis which I speculate is a result of their mortal bodies being unable to handle the Sharmatic energies.



There is no group with more diversity in the functions they play in the Sixth House and they are indisputably the backbone of the Sixth House who ensure the strategic goals of the Sixth House come into fruition by implementation of numerous tactical-level operations. That said, there is a great deal of variance in the authority between individual Ash Poets.

Dagoth Milos for instance was the High Priest of Kirinibbi and oversaw all of us there (Dagoth Urik chose to use Kirinibbi as his headquarters, but he oversaw the Ascadian Isles region in its entirety), meanwhile Dagoth Quorin’s duties largely consisted of handling security measures of the base. There were other Ash Poets with even less responsibility and authority such as Dagoth Uves who was responsible for ensuring our daily tasks were being completed.

Physiologically, they are even stronger than Ash Zombies and have magical aptitude as well. That said, they are somewhat lighter than Ash Zombies and tend to eat less as well. I speculate this is due to their bodies becoming a mix of flesh and dream.

Psychologically, they are as diverse as the roles they occupy. Dagoth Milos was an authoritarian dictator, while Dagoth Quorin was a very cordial and affable individual. It depends on each one individually.

  * **Ascended Sleepers:** I only saw Dagoth Urik once and I did not speak to him at all, but from my understanding, the Ascended Sleepers are the apex of Sixth House evolution and they serve as the generals of the Sixth House. They oversee vast swaths of land across Vvardenfell and set the strategic objectives which are passed down to the High Priests (who command their own bases) and down to the rank-and-file. 



I know very little about their physiology or psychology, but I know that Dagoth Urik was a massive creature who moved with a great deal of grace. He spent most of his time secluded in his meditation chamber and never ate. This leads me to believe that the Ascended Sleepers are not actually physiological entities in their own right, but instead corporeal manifestations of the disembodied ascendants. 

I speculate they take corporeal form in order to ensure that the Sixth House can move forward with its plans and eventually develop into an era of prosperity in its own right.

  * **Ash Vampires:** I know even less about the infamous Ash Vampires, but I believe they form the ruling council of the Sixth House which is headed by the Sharmat himself.



  * **The Sharmat:** What I know of the Sharmat is that he is in essence of psychic font of corrupted Lorkhanic energies which he radiates across Vvardenfell, but only those affected by the Divine Disease are actually affected by it. This would explain why he is so active in producing blight storms across the region and why during the pre-infiltration stage of my infiltration of Kirinibbi, I was trafficking so many Ash Statues.



  * **The Ash Mystic:** Dagoth Cerebel. I genuinely am unable to explain what it is that led to him becoming what he became, but I have a theory. I believe that he rather than remain a passive recipient of the Sharmatic energies that the Sharmat radiates, I believe Dagoth Cerebel actually siphoned some off and became a second wellspring of Sharmatic energies as well. I do not know if this was intentional or accidental though.



However, Dagoth Cerebel did not have the tools needed to imbue himself with godhood and consequently, his body could not handle the stresses of being a Second Sharmat. I believe this is what resulted in his strange evolution, even if it didn’t stop him from having deific powers in his own right. I only wish I had more proof of Dagoth Cerebel’s existence than my logs, because if we can figure out what it is he did, perhaps we can find a way to reverse-engineer it to cut the Sharmat off entirely.


	3. Part III: The Mark of Cerebel

**Part III: The Mark of Cerebel**

_By Nevena Dals, Scribe Curate_

Every time I close my eyes, I see Kirinibbi. I see the tumorous growths that inched across the ground in every crevice and I see the faces of everyone there. I see Hlavora with her beak-nose and crooked grin and Dagoth Milos with his perpetual scowl, but it’s more than just seeing it. I can smell it. I can smell the pungent odor of the Lost and I can hear their pained moans, but it’s not real, at least, I don’t think it’s real. I hope it’s not real. I saw Kirinibbi disappear. I saw it all just—stop. It’s gone. It’s gone—it has to be gone.

But it’s not really gone. It’s gone in the way that a bowl of saltrice soup is gone after you’ve eaten it. Certainly, the saltrice soup doesn’t physically exist anymore, but you ate it. You experienced it. You experienced the gritty texture of the rice against the silky guar stock and the way it burned just a little as you put it into your mouth too quickly, but you swallowed it fast and you felt it burn all the way down. The soup itself may be gone, but it was real and it still is real, even if it’s only real in the fact that you didn’t just imagine it; you experienced it. I just wish Kirinibbi wasn’t real. I wish I had just imagined it, but I didn’t. I didn’t imagine Kirinibbi. It was real and I know it.

The thing though that bothers me most about Kirinibbi was not the atrocities I was witness to. It was not the fact that we herded the Lost from place to place so we could dine upon their flesh without the mercy of granting them death or even knowing that I stood in one of the most profane of all places. What haunts me from Kirinibbi is that I miss it. I felt safe. I felt loved. I felt protected. I miss the sanctuary I found in Kirinibbi because my entire life has been a search for those things and I thought I had found it when I swore my vows to the Three, but nothing compares to what I found there. To who I found there. To be taken as Dagoth Cerebel’s pupil is perhaps the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me and I’m troubled about it. 

I knew my life before Dagoth Cerebel: I was a Temple Priestess sworn into the Order of Lore. Now? I don’t even know who I am anymore. I once saw through a million eyes and felt the beat of half as many hearts and that was through Cerebel. He gave me the gift of perspective and now I am wracked with agony over that newfound perspective. I am so alone. So very alone here. I do not feel the heartbeats of my fellow priests or of the laity, but I have felt the heartbeat of the Lost and I know their pain and I have gazed upon the brilliance of minds like Dagoth Milos. I have been touched by a creature that defies understanding and now I stand here changed—marked—and I do not know how much longer I can bear this shell of an existence, but there is one thing I stand certain of. I will find you, Cerebel, wherever you have gone, I will find you. I swear that oath before both the Anticipations and the Tribunal: I will find you.

_-Nevena Dals_


	4. Part IV: Notes on the Undercity of Vivec

**Part IV: Notes on the Undercity of Vivec**

_By Nevena Dals, Scribe Curate_

  1. **Introduction**



There is a great deal of misunderstanding about the Holy City of Vivec. Many gaze upon its grand cantons and upon Baar Dau and stand in awe of it, for it is a monument of Vivec’s grace, but these people who stand in awe of it are ignorant that beneath the beautiful cantons lies a hive festering with all manner of criminals, lunatics, and other outcasts. The denizens of Vivec know of it; they know that beneath the cantons blood, drugs, and profane artifacts move faster than the water itself, but they also know that is contained and generally do not speak of it, lest they give reason for the already vigilant Ordinators to give them a more watchful eye. I tell you of the Undercity.

  1. **History of the Undercity**



There are few theories about how the Undercity came to be, but the most prominent one based on my research into historical archives cross-referenced with criminal records is that originally, the waterworks were predominately used by those escaping the law. The Ordinators would seldom follow them in there due to the fact that its dark and those who would flee into them would frequently become lost and usually fell into the canals themselves, typically drowning or being picked apart by the slaughterfish, but things changed in 3E 227 when a gang began using the waterworks of St. Olms Canton as their headquarters. This gang’s name has been washed away by history, but their business in the waterworks eventually expanded into the others and all manner of folk looking to escape the rest of the civilized world found solace in the disconnected nodes beneath the cantons.

By 3E 272, the original gang had been wiped out in a gang war for nearly forty years and these disconnected nodes formed a subterranean mirror of the Holy City, except there was little in the way of law or order. Would-be adventurers would set out into the “Undercity” as it had been derogatorily named by the Ordinators and most of them would never see the sun again. 

By 3E 280, the Undercity had a thriving infrastructure for trade of all kinds of illicit materials and many smugglers made very handsome careers simply moving product from one canton’s waterworks to another, but things in the Undercity grew increasingly intense and the demand for fresh corpses began to outgrow the already exorbitant supply. This led to a spring of murders and kidnappings across Vivec and this resulted in Archcanon Raynil Sarethi declaring a secret crusade against the Undercity. 

The Ordinators of the Order of War were sent into the Undercity in order to take control and, as the documents say, “Ensure that the Holy City is purged of the sludge beneath the cantons.” While the Ordinators did their best, they were losing a war of attrition. Hundreds of Ordinators died and in the end, they were no closer to taming the Undercity than they were when they began their crusade. The Master of War, Galos Indrano, committed suicide when Archcanon Sarethi called off the Crusade. His note was as follows:

_“No amount of penance can provide atonement for all the death brought on by my failure._

_I would beg forgiveness from you, Brothers, but I am not worthy._

_-Galos Indrano, Master of War”_

The Order of War having been thoroughly broken by the failed crusade and Indrano’s suicide demoralizing the entirety of the Ordinator Corps, Archcanon Sarethi secretly met with Orvas Dren in 3E 283 regarding the state of the Undercity and offered him amnesty for his crimes if he agreed to use the Camonna Tong’s resources to subjugate the gangs and cults below. Orvas Dren rejected the Archcanon’s offer and countered that he would do it so long as the Camonna Tong had the “good graces of the Temple”. I speculate this is the causal reason for why the Camonna Tong is able to operate as brazenly as they do, because in the event that one of the watchmen is naïve enough to arrest a member of the Camonna Tong, the Temple is quick to see to it that they are released (albeit through several degrees of separation).

Since 3E 283, the Camonna Tong has maintained a hold over most of the Undercity, but not through sheer force, but manipulation, intimidation, and bribery. Though they’ve secured the Undercity and are the de facto rulers of it, this should not be misinterpreted as to mean they are unassailable. They operate in some regards as a regulatory commission and governing body in the Undercity, but one should not mistake them as doing so out of good will—it is done by the orders of Orvas Dren and should ever anything happen to him or the deal that Sarethi made ever cease to be honored, then the Camonna Tong will pull out and the Undercity will quickly spill out into the ‘civilized’ parts of the Holy City of Vivec, but this time, there will be no one to save it.

  * **The Undercity Canton-Nodes**



  * **Foreign Quarter:** The waterworks beneath the Foreign Quarter serve as one of the Canton-Nodes of the Undercity. This one is known by the denizens of the Undercity as “Haven” because it is neutral territory. The act of spilling blood in Haven is reason to be marked for death by the Camonna Tong; those who are marked for death lose the protections of Haven and are frequently accompanied by bounties.



The neutral status of Haven has made it a prime location for trade and one can hardly traverse the walkways without being hassled by a dozen merchants peddling all manner of wares. Drugs, bodies, daedric artifacts, Sixth House paraphernalia, it’s all there and more—but the most valuable things sold are food, clean water, and weapons. 

Haven is the most densely populated canton-node due to its neutral status and though the Camonna Tong provide security and maintain governing oversight, Haven is largely controlled by the “Free Trade Association”, a guild of thieves, smugglers, and merchants who have banded together to form cartels and engage in racketeering. The leader of the Free Trade Association is an Imperial named Matthias Savon,

  * **Hlaalu Canton:** The waterworks beneath Hlaalu Canton are another of the Canton-Nodes of the Undercity. This one is known as “Tong Town”. This is where the Camonna Tong headquarters their Undercity operations and where those who violate the Camonna Tong’s rulings and laws are brought to stand trial before the “Governor of the Undercity”. 



The denizens of the Undercity have a saying about Tong Town: “Two types of people step foot into Tong Town: The Tong and the people who wish they were the Tong.”

  * **Telvanni Canton:** The waterworks beneath Telvanni Canton used to be one of the Canton-Nodes of the Undercity and were quite popular amongst the magically-apt of the Undercity’s denizens, but the Telvanni Wizard-Lord presiding over the canton has repurposed the waterworks as a place for his ‘experiments’. The denizens who refused to leave were added to his collection of experiments.



It was formerly known as “New Uvirith” in reference to the lost tower of Tel Uvirith.

It is now known as “Old Uvirith” due to the fact that it was lost.

  * **Redoran Canton:** The waterworks beneath Redoran Canton are another of the Canton-Nodes of the Undercity. This one is known as “New Uvirith”. When the denizens of Old Uvirith were displaced by Mavon Drenim, they immigrated to the waterworks beneath the Redoran Canton which were at the time known as “Temple Street”. 



Temple Street was once a place for the religious of all persuasions to practice freely, but the influx of Telvanni aspirants from Old Uvirith created a great deal of strain as the Old Uvirithans and the Temple Street denizens competed for valuable resources like space. This ultimately led to a short, but bloody, gang war where the Temple Street denizens were largely massacred in a few short hours and those who survived the initial onslaught have been enslaved and subjected to the alchemical and magical research of their new masters.

There are reports that the Temple Street slaves have attempted revolts in the past, but such activities have only resulted in the conspirators and rebels being subjected to the worst experiments. 

**NOTE:** Though Temple Street was open for all religions, it was remained largely unpopular with cults of the more sinister persuasions.

  * **Delyn Canton:** The waterworks beneath St. Delyn Canton are another of the Canton-Nodes of the Undercity and are avoided by all except for the insane and the stupid due to the many cults that operate within this area. It is best known as “The Fifth Corner” in reference to the Four Corners of the House of Troubles.



This is the one area of the Undercity that the Camonna Tong does not have control over and it is the area that we have the least information about in the Archives. 

  * **Olms Canton:** The waterworks beneath St. Olms Canton are the original Canton-Node of the Undercity and is known as “Beggar’s Hall”. Beggar’s Hall is the unofficial ‘entrance’ to the Undercity proper, as traversing the Undercity without being authorized by the Camonna Tong is the fastest way to end up in Tong Town—and not in a good way.



Here is where people looking to start a new life in the Undercity begin, because whoever you were before you came to Beggar’s Hall doesn’t matter—it’s all about who you become.

Beggar’s Hall is the second most densely populated Canton-Node of the Undercity and is filled with the dregs of society with no other options.

  1. **Closing Notes**



This is my final report.

As of today, 13 Second Seed 3E 426, I resign my positions as both a Priestess of the Tribunal Temple and a Scribe Curate of the Order of Lore. 

I understand that this is atypical behavior and is not permissible under any circumstances and I have weighed the consequences which I am invoking upon myself by renouncing the Temple after having sworn my vows, but I have been called to a higher purpose and duty, and as such, have no choice but to break my vows. 

I also am aware that this decision carries with it the weight of being branded not only Apostate, but Heretic, and I accept this judgment without plea of innocence or request for clemency.

May ALMSIVI be with you.

-Nevena Dals


	5. Part V: Beyond Atonement

** Part V: Beyond Atonement **

_ By Nevena Dals, Apostate _

I couldn’t stop staring at him as the blood pooled around his crumpled-up body and filled the cracks of the walkway. There were a thousand eyes on me and the man in front of me and I felt each and every one of them penetrating me as I watched him—somewhat waiting for and somewhat hoping for some form of movement. Something. Some way of knowing he was still alive, but I watched for what felt like a long time and he didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He just laid there as the pool got bigger and bigger until it finally spilled into the canal, but I couldn’t move. I don’t even know how I was breathing. I was just—stuck. Stuck in a loop as my mind replayed it over and over until I didn’t want to think about it anymore—and then it kept going some more. 

I didn’t know this man before a day ago and I didn’t know much about him beyond his name and the fact that the Tong wanted him dead and there I was—a dagger in my hand still dripping with his blood and him face-down on the walkway. I didn’t know him. I certainly didn’t want to kill him. I never wanted to kill him or anyone else. I’ve done horrible things in my life, but I’ve always done them for the right reasons—at least I thought they were for the right reasons. I thought the things I did were for a good cause—I was doing my duty to the Temple and to the Three but even then, I was never asked to do something like this. I was never asked to take a life. I’ve always known it could be a possibility—someday—but I never thought that it would actually happen or that it would happen like this. 

It took me a few minutes to regain my composure after I watched him fall face-first into the walkway. He never knew it was coming and probably never even felt it as the blade slid up into the cranial cavity. For him, it was probably like blowing out a candle. One moment he’s there and the next—he’s just—not. He didn’t have to hear the sound of his face smashing into the walkway and his nose breaking as he hit the ground like a sack of ashyams. He didn’t hear it. He didn’t see it. He didn’t have to be there—he was just gone—and I was the one who made him just gone. I—I killed a man. I’m a murderer.

ALMSIVI forgive me.

I have done what no one should do. I have taken a life without provocation or justification. I—I wish I could just—go back. I just want to go back to it and stop myself. He didn’t do anything to me, but I—I killed him—in cold blood—because of what? Because he was late on some payments? Because he made a mistake? He’s dead—because I’m a monster. What kind of creature kills in cold blood? Who even am I?

I want to say Nevena Dals, but the Nevena Dals I am—or used to be—she didn’t kill people in cold blood. She didn’t. She wouldn’t, but I did. I killed a man in cold blood. I killed a man and there’s nothing I can do. I just want to go back and stop it. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have. I’m a monster. 

I just hope wherever you are, Cerebel, you know that I did this, not because I wanted to, but because I had to. I found someone—someone who can help me find you—but they are not here. They are in another part of the Undercity and I have to find them—but the Tong—they wouldn’t let me into the other parts, not without this. Please understand that, Cerebel, please. I would never have done this if I did not have to. Please. 


	6. Part VI: Regrets

**Part VI: Regrets**

_By Nevena Dals, Apostate_

I haven’t seen the sun in what feels like years, but it can’t be that long, but it might be—I don’t know anymore. I don’t know how long I’ve been down here or how long I’ve been hitting that damned pipe. I hate that pipe. I hate it so much, but the pipe makes it all cloudy. Makes it so I can’t think anymore and that’s all I really want anymore. I don’t want to think. When I think, I think about how I threw my whole life away because I fell head-first into exactly what every member of the Order of Lore is trained to defend themselves against: the manipulations of the unnatural. 

Cerebel wasn’t meant to be—maybe he wasn’t even real. Maybe I was just lying in the fetal position in some cave for who knows how long, but it doesn’t matter if he’s real, not real, or if I just had a brain hemorrhage and somehow that was my reaction to a near-death experience, but I do know that he ruined my life. He ruined everything. I was a Scribe Curate and my work was universally approved by the Convening Curate Council, what is to say I wouldn’t have one day become a Disciple and even the Diviner of the Order of Lore—nothing. Nothing except the fact that I’m dead to the Temple now; I’m just another Scribe who went too deep and never came all the way back and now, now there’s no going back, no matter how much I want to. ALMSIVI knows I wish I could go back to the life I had before—before—all this. Before I had those visions or dreams or whatever they were, but it’s too late now. I’m nobody but a body for hire these days, because what use am I to anyone or anything anymore? That’s all I’ve got left. I’m nothing but a body for the cretins of this ‘undercity’ to crawl on top of, but it’s okay. They crawl. They poke. They prod. But it’s okay, because maybe this is what I was meant for. Maybe this is what’s been my destiny all along: to be nothing. Nothing of substance, nothing of importance, just—nothing.

Thank the Three for the pipe that makes me feel like just that—nothing. I took Cerebel to be more than he was, but that’s okay, because here in a moment—I won’t feel a thing anymore, at least not for a while. I won’t think. I won’t dream. I won’t even see the face of the s’wit I knifed in Beggar’s Hall—I’ll just be—free. Free to not exist—even if it’s just for a little bit. I suppose this is as good a point as any to stop—the pipe is hot and I’ve got the skooma ready. Goodbye world, at least for a while.

_-Nevena "the Cornergirl" Dals_


	7. Part VII: Last Words

**Part VII: Last Words  
**

_By Nevena Dals, Apostate_

Everybody always talks about what skooma will do to you, but they never talk about the taste. They never talk about that acrid taste as the abrasive smoke fills your mouth and gets sucked down into your lungs and how every part of you wants to cough, but you know if you do, you’ll waste the hit, and skooma isn’t something you want to waste. So you hold it in as long as you can even though your lungs hurt from this smoke that’s hard to describe—it’s not like Hackle-Lo smoke. Hackle-Lo goes down smooth and it comes up smooth after the first couple times, but skooma—skooma is different. Skooma never gets better to smoke. Every time it fills your lungs, it feels like you’re breathing in a big mouthful of ash and soap, but you can’t cough. Coughing is wasteful and you don’t waste skooma; skooma is all you got. It’s your only friend. It doesn’t judge you. It doesn’t condemn you. It accepts you for who you are and isn’t that all anyone wants? To be accepted? To be loved unconditionally? I guess that’s why I fell in love with the idea of Cerebel; he—it—whatever he is—he didn’t care about who I was and he even saw through my ruse, but he didn’t care. At least he didn’t show it if he did. If he was even real. 

I wonder about that a lot more lately. I wonder about if he was real or just something I made up to make up for the fact that I never really fit into the Temple. I didn’t ever wake up one morning with the zeal to devote myself to the Three, it just sort of—happened. Lots of things in my life have just sort of—happened. Like that. Like this. Like really everything in my life. I’ve always just kind of fallen from one thing to the next and now look at me. My back is covered in scratches and I can’t look in a mirror anymore—at least, I don’t want to. Not anymore.

I used to be someone. 

Something.

And now I just see a husk when I look at my reflection. I’m used up. The men who used to frequent my corner have moved onto better, prettier girls than me, but that’s okay. I never was too pretty. I was just—me. But even that’s better than what I am now. I’m just a used up old hag now—my hair is falling out in thick clumps and my skin has become akin to drapes hanging from my frail bones, but that’s okay. Maybe this is just how things were meant to happen. That’s what Eno always used to say—some things are just meant to be. I miss Eno. I miss Eno more than anyone, but I suppose that makes sense. 

Eno and I, we used to be—more than friends—but I wouldn’t say we were ever lovers, at least not, committedly, but he was always there for me. Always looking out for me and making sure I was safe. He found me when I was a gutter-rat in Balmora, not unlike this, but things were different back then. I was different back then.

I would pull my usual cons on the tourists and the businessmen coming to arrange trade deals with the Hlaalu, but I was innocent back then. Sure, I swindled more people out of their gold than the Elsweyran Carnival, but I wasn’t like I am now. I wasn’t—broken. Twisted. I wasn’t—this. I was a girl doing her best to survive and now, I don’t know if I can say that and it be true. In fact, I know I can’t say that and it be true; I’m not that little girl pulling tricks in the back alleys of Balmora anymore. I wish I was. ALMSIVI knows how much I wish was, but I’m not. I’m just a used up whore who threw away everything she ever had because she got caught up in some fantasy of what could have been. I just wish things could go back to before that. To before everything changed. To before Kirinibbi.

But there’s no going back. I wish there was, but there’s not. I wish I’d never have accepted that assignment, but I was so damn sure that it’d be what’d get me my Curate Seal and now what does that little pin mean to me? What does it matter? It doesn’t. It doesn’t matter and chasing it—chasing it ruined my life. 

Eno always saw in me the things I didn’t see in myself. He always saw a good person where I just saw someone with a penchant for separating fools from their money and maybe he’s why I ended up in the Temple, maybe. I can’t help but think that if I never met Eno, none of this would have happened either, but who knows where my life would’ve gone if I hadn’t. Would I still be on the streets of Balmora pulling tricks or would I have eventually been caught up in the gang war between the Tong and the Thieves’ Guild? 

I don’t know. 

I just don’t know anymore, but I know this, anything would be better than this. I can’t keep living like this—I can’t keep doing this. I can’t. I just can’t. I can’t get away from this damned pipe for more than a few hours even though it makes me cough harder than anything I’ve ever experienced. I can’t go back to who I used to be. I can’t do anything.

If you’ve read this far, then I’d like to thank you, whoever you are, for caring enough about me to have read my diary, but I hope you know, by time you read this, I will already be dead. I’ve made my peace with this world and I can’t keep clinging to it when I’ve made the wrong choices all along. I can’t keep fighting for a life that I want release from, so I’m done. I’m done fighting. I’m done trying to make it better. I’m just going to—stop. I’m going to stop existing entirely.

I’ve always been afraid to die, but this is different. I still am afraid to die, but I must confess, I’m more afraid to live than to die anymore, but I still can’t find it within myself to take the knife to my throat or to my wrists. Certainly, it will end my existence and I will be washed of my memories and all that I am in the Dreamsleeve, but I will be made anew and forced to live a new life, and I can not risk that. I will not risk that. So I will find the Vaerminan and I know that when I find it, I will be consumed in whole and I shall be spared the mortal coil forever.

Do not follow me. 

Do not come for me.

Do not try to save me.

My time has come and I am ready to face it.

-Nevena Dals


	8. Part VIII: Rebirth

**Part VIII: Rebirth**

_By Nevena Dals, Disciple of Cerebel_

Eno always used to say that things were darkest before the dawn and that we needed to hold onto hope if nothing else, but I didn’t believe him back then. I do now. I sought my death in the Fifth Corner and I did very much find death, but it was not in the manner I expected. As the Vaerminan ate my dreams and through them, my life, it grew sickly with the Divine Disease—so much so that it found only its own death within me and I awoke from my coma to feel it all. To feel the beating hearts. To smell the rank odors of the Undercity through the dozens, if not hundreds, of noses. To hear the thoughts of the many men who found refuge within me for a handful of coin. I thought I had been forsaken by Cerebel, if he had ever existed, but I had not been forsaken at all, but left to mature and I have done so.

Throughout the Undercity, the Divine Disease spreads like wildfire and I am the one who brought it to them, but I feel—whole—again. I hear their thoughts as they notice the budding tumors and they scramble to hide them from their peers, not knowing that it spreads like a plague through these crowded walkways. I feel their fear as they think the worst conceivable thing they could have imagined has come to pass, but they don’t understand what it’s like to experience this oneness yet. Maybe they never will, but I hope they will—at least eventually, but for now, I am trying not to trouble myself with worries of my children, but with celebration of the blessing I have received. I have been given a second chance and shown that even in my darkest hour, I was not alone—that I am never alone.

I didn’t recognize it before, but these months beneath the world, they were always a test. I was being tested by Cerebel and he knew that ultimately, I would do as I had been chosen to do, even if I did not know it. He believed in me even when I could not believe in myself and I denounced him and even declared him to be nothing but a figment of my imagination, but still, he stands behind me if not in body, then in spirit. 

Things are changing with me as well. I see it. I see my skin is beginning to take the rotting, macerated look of the Afflicted and my eyes are becoming more and more sunken. The bones of my face have become soft like a baby’s head and though I fear for this, I trust in Cerebel now that I know he still stands with me. I trust in him as I expect my children will trust in me when they begin to turn, but I will not be here to guide them in body, just as Cerebel is not here to guide me in body, but I believe they will do what must be done when the time comes, but I can not stay here. It’s only a matter of time before word reaches the surface and the Order of War is dispatched for a second crusade against the Undercity and though I wish I could stay to be a mother to all of my children, I have a calling that can not be ignored even though I only now recognize it.

Cerebel saw in me potential. 

I don’t know what purpose he sought to utilize that potential for, but I do know that he saw something in me that nobody has ever seen before and that’s why I can’t pursue him any longer. I can’t keep chasing him as I was before I lost faith. I need to trust him. I need to have faith in him as he has in me and that means moving forward, even if I do not know which way forward necessarily is anymore.

I thought forward meant looking for Cerebel, but that’s not forward. If he wanted me to find him, then he would show himself to me, but that does not mean that he has forsaken me. He is with me and I know that now; I know that to be as true, for it weren’t, then I would not be here. The Vaerminan would have consumed me in full and I would be naught, but I was spared that by the mark Cerebel placed upon me in Kirinibbi and now it is my time to live up to what he saw in me.

I am making preparations for my journey to Red Mountain partially in hopes of learning more about this mark Cerebel has placed upon me and partially in hopes of becoming one with the rest of the Sixth House. There was a time when I thought I knew what family was, but no family I have ever known hears the thoughts and heartbeats of one another, and I hope to join the rest of my family and reclaim what I felt in Kirinibbi. My destiny awaits and I shall deny it no longer.


	9. Intermission I, Part I: The Abomination Lives

**Intermission I, Part I: The Abomination Lives**

_By Dagoth Milos, Former High Priest of Kirinibbi_

My mind rolls around in the silence of the emptiness since the Abomination disappeared. It was at first as crippling as it was when I began my ascension, but I know that these scars are temporary and that I will be reunited with him once they fade. I have been damaged, but not severed from him and things will be rectified—of this I know to be true. It must be true. There is no alternative universe in which it can not be true, but things must be rectified and I must be the one to rectify them as I should have at Kirinibbi.

I sense the Abomination lurking beneath the Vivec’s monument of his own vanity; I feel his presence radiating from it, but I am perplexed. I do not know how he came to seek refuge within the Betrayer’s City, but he has. And worse, his influence grows. I feel his presence seeping out beyond its walls and deep into the ashlands and I find myself intoxicated by it, sickeningly so, just as it had been before. It is fainter this time though. He is weak from what happened and that is fortunate for me, because I will be able to do what I should have done at Kirinibbi before it blinked out of existence. I will unmake him. I will destroy the Usurper and free myself and my house of its abhorrent nature, but I do not want to. I must, but I do not want to. 

I am conflicted and perhaps that is why I have gone deaf to the words of Lord Dagoth, because he senses within me the divided soul. 

He senses my doubt.

My fear.

And worse.

My hope.

I hate the Abomination. I should have killed it before it had a chance to grow into what it became; it would have been so easy, but I was weak. Even then, it had this aura that I could not pull myself from. It had this supernatural serenity about it and it spoke to me of the future of the House. It spoke to me of our prophesied fall and of the importance of making our peace with our apotheosis not being one of shedding the trappings of flesh but of shedding the trappings of consciousness. Of the freedom found only in non-existence. 

But it is a hypocrite.

It saw its death coming for it at my hand and it vanished and scurried to the beneath the Betrayer’s City, but I do not know why it would go there. What did it expect to find there? What hopes does it have? What goals? 

I do not know, but I will find out and when I do, I shall unmake the Abomination and cast away the doubts that it placed upon me. I shall become whole again when it is forced to attain the apotheosis of death it spoke of and I will be welcomed again to partake of Lord Dagoth’s communion. I will no longer be left to hear only my thoughts rattle around an empty cage, but will be welcomed back into the fold and I shall experience oncemore the infinite glory of the Sixth House, for this is my penance for failing to do what must be done and when the wrong is righted, so too will the penance be alleviated, for Lord Dagoth forgives, even when we are not worthy of being forgiven. 

Lord Dagoth, know that I will bring glory unto you and unto our house in these coming days. I swear this to you on all that I am and all that I ever shall be knowing that these things are only because of the gifts you have bestowed unto me and I shall show you that your glory has not been wasted. I swear it.

The Abomination will die and Kirinibbi will be avenged. This too, I swear.

_-Dagoth Milos, Former High Priest of Kirinibbi_


	10. Intermission I, Part II: Salvation

**Intermission I, Part II: Salvation**

_By Dagoth Milos, Former High Priest of Kirinibbi_

I have not looked upon the Betrayer’s City since before I saw the truth in Lord Dagoth, but I stand here held in the same awe as I did when I first looked upon it so many years ago. I was young then and I was blind. I had given of myself wholly to the Betrayer as I have given of myself wholly to the Dreamer, but I did not recognize the lies he spewed to us at the Ghostgate. He spoke to us and told us that he saw in each of us a brother with whom he shared a spirit, because we were all a people of excess. We drank to excess. We fought to excess. We even made love to excess. But we were happy. We were all so happy, even though we knew our lives could end at any moment. Even though we knew that it only took one mistake beyond the Fence for us to never see our brothers again. We knew it all and we didn’t care. We just lived and raided those citadels like a pack of cliffracers seeing an easy meal and it’s a wonder we all made it out as many times as we did, but somehow, we did. I used to think that was Vivec protecting us, but like with so many other things back then, I was wrong.

Vivec didn’t care about us beyond what we could do for him. He called us brother, but he didn’t love us like brothers. People don’t send their brothers on suicide missions day-in, day-out. They don’t ask them to take their knife and put it in their best friend’s heart because he got sick. They don’t ask the kinds of things that he asked us back then, but he did. The Betrayer did. He betrayed us all every time he sent us beyond the Fence, because he didn’t really care if we lived or died—it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had people willing to go beyond the Fence to put pressure on Lord Dagoth in hopes he’d ever get back to the Heart.

He won’t.

I’ll die before I let him see the Heart again. I’ll give my life a hundred times to stop him from getting what he threw away so many of my brothers’ lives for. What he thought he threw away my life for. 

The Buoyant Armigers as we called ourselves, we didn’t believe in that little experiment the Telvanni have—the Corprusarium. We believed that once you got sick, you got the knife. We’d stab you in the heart because we couldn’t risk you turning and being another Afflicted we’d have to put down later. It was never personal, but you can’t look at the man who has been both a lover and a brother to you and take a knife to his heart without it being personal, but that’s what we were told to do. That’s what he told us all to do. Because he was afraid. He was afraid that we might see the truth. That we might realize Lord Dagoth is not the monster he and the other false gods have painted him to be.

When I got sick, I fled beyond the Fence, because I was afraid. I was afraid to see the look on Llevos’ face if he was the one who found out—I couldn’t bare to see it, so I ran. And ran. And ran. And I thought I’d die beyond the Fence. I thought I’d die scared and alone, but I didn’t. I should have, but I didn’t. I was saved. Lord Dagoth spoke to me and gave me strength; he saw within me fear and he spoke unto me words of hope so that I would hold on long enough and that I would seek him out beneath the Red Mountain. 

When the Betrayer sought to have my brothers kill me, Lord Dagoth welcomed me into his family.

When the Betrayer sent me to die for him, Lord Dagoth held no malice towards me, for he knew I acted from ignorance.

When the Betrayer abandoned me, Lord Dagoth saved me.

And now I am being tested as I watch the sun set over the cantons of the Betrayer’s City. Lord Dagoth does not speak to me because he knows I am in turmoil over the words of the Abomination and wishes me to find my answers from within, but I struggle to have the same faith in myself as that Lord Dagoth holds in me, but I know that wherever I walk, I walk with him behind me. I am all that I am, because Lord Dagoth saved me and I shall glorify his name beneath the Betrayer’s City when I carve out the Abomination from this world in his name. 

Hallowed be thy name, Lord Dagoth. May your teachings guide me through these coming trials for I know that so long as you are with me, I will be saved again and again

_-Dagoth Milos, Former High Priest of Kirinibbi_


	11. Intermission I, Part III: The Price of Failure

**Intermission I, Part III: The Price of Failure**

_By Dagoth Milos, Former High Priest of Kirinibbi_

I have infiltrated the Betrayer’s City and I find myself more and more troubled with every passing second as I near the Abomination, but it’s not the siren call it emanates that leaves me troubled—it is the pain it has caused. It has spread Lord Dagoth’s blessing without forethought or concern for who it would reach and now the City Below burns hot with a thousand fevers as their bodies undergo an evolution that they never should’ve been exposed to—all because of the Abomination or more accurately, because I didn’t kill it when I had the chance. I should have. I know I should have, but I didn’t, and now countless people are undergoing the Transformation and most of them, if not all of them, will join the growing ranks of the Lost, and for what? Because the Abomination could not demonstrate control? Because it sought only to spread Lord Dagoth’s blessing? I do not know what reasoning it had, but I know that the City Below burns alive in delirious fever as Lord Dagoth’s blessing ravages their bodies and I alone bear responsibility for allowing this to happen. 

I once stood a High Priest in the Sixth House, but I have disgraced everything Lord Dagoth has taught by allowing this to happen.

My inaction has allowed thousands to undergo the Second Sacrament without having undergone the First and in doing so, I have damned nearly all of them to a fate unspeakable and there is no penance worthy of a failure of my magnitude. I have failed in my most sacred duties and that is the celebration of Lord Dagoth’s blessings unto us and though I can not change what has already been done, I can make right my failure and prevent another tragedy of this magnitude from coming to pass.

I write these words as I prepare myself for the coming conflict and I do so knowing that I will likely be killed by it, for it swept away countless of my brothers and sisters within the House from Kirinibbi, but I can not stand idly by again. My inaction has damned these people and though they are not my brothers by blood or by house, they are my brothers in that we call the same land home and as I feel their pain, their fear, their anger, I can’t escape the guilt of what my actions have done. I have done an unspeakable act against each and every one of them and I will make it right—as right as I can make it.

I swear it.

Either the Abomination or I will die by sunrise today and that is my solemn promise to all of you. To all who call my house their own. To all who call my home their own. To all who call the consequences of my failure to be their own—I will make things right or I will die trying. 

Lord Dagoth, I pray you hear me as I speak out into the darkness, I will not fail you as I did before. 

I will make myself worthy of the gifts you have bestowed upon me.

I swear it.

_-Dagoth Milos, Former High Priest of Kirinibbi_


	12. Intermission I, Part IV: Responsibility

**Intermission I, Part IV: Responsibility**

_By Dagoth Milos, Former High Priest of Kirinibbi_

I set upon this city beneath the Betrayer’s namesake with purpose of unmaking the Abomination and every step has only intensified my zeal for fulfilling this goal, but I have come face-to-face with the one I thought the Abomination to be and I find myself deceived. The Abomination is nowhere to be found, but its presence—its very aura—lives on in another—the infiltrator of Kirinibbi who thought herself too smart for me to pick up on her deception. She is the source of the great illness that plagues the City Below and she is without remorse for her actions; everything about her deeds confirms that she must be brought to justice for her crimes against these people, but there is something in her that gives me pause even as I consider following through on my oath to destroy the Abomination—or her, as it seems she has become it, and that troubles me. I should not be feeling a pause, but only vindication in that my cause is righteous, but I feel no righteous fury as I stand and look upon her—I feel only the gravity of everything she has lost.

I look upon her and I do not see the Abomination; I see myself.

I see myself when I first got sick and how I had to run as fast and as hard as I could beyond the Fence, because I couldn’t deal with the look on Llevos’ face if he was the one to be my executioner, and here she stands, alone and lost in the world, clinging to whatever gives her hope—and that is my house. In more ways than I care to admit, she is my reflection, even if we wear different garb and come from different times, she is me and that is why I can not find the righteous fury that raged within as I came here. I came to destroy the Abomination in both form and thought, but I gaze upon this woman who is little different than Cerebel except in ego, and I stand at a pause. 

How can one kill themselves?

As I watch her sleep after our confrontation before the sunrise and the ensuing conversation, I am troubled. 

She deserves to die by every measure of justice for her crimes, but her crimes were committed both unwittingly and without realization of the gravity, so I also find myself asking if bringing her to death would be justice—or vengeance. She has damned a thousand lives to join the ranks of the Lost and a thousand more will die sparing them from their torment, but is it justice to condemn those who act without realizing what they do or is it an act of vengeance to try to get some sort of satisfaction from knowing the assailant is receiving their comeuppance? These questions trouble me as much as the way she looks at me now that she knows I will not be the one to unmake her as she thought upon seeing me. Her terror was palpable and it breezed into my mind like the gale winds the Nords are so accustomed to and I felt myself forced to put up a mental guard against it, but she feels safe—secure—and I too feel that from her. She is like the Abomination in that regard, in many regards, but especially that one. We hear the words of Lord Dagoth and are made whole by it, speaking only to him through our prayers, but she and the Abomination are twisted microcosms of Lord Dagoth in that they too hear the thoughts and ‘feel’ the Sixth House as he does, but also, the Abomination spoke as Lord Dagoth did, and I worry more and more that the Abomination lives in her. She is possessing of great power without realizing what it is she holds and that is also one more reason I can not kill her, but even more, it is one more reason I must bring her to Lord Dagoth. 

The Abomination acted in defiance of Lord Dagoth; it thought itself to be equal or even superior to Lord Dagoth, but she is young yet and still malleable. She can be sculpted and molded to reach her true potential and with time, shown and taught about the great gift she carries within her. I only hope she comes to understand that she bears the Mark of the Abomination and is in many ways, the Abomination itself, but she does not have to suffer the same fate it did—she could be spared if she is willing to submit. 

She will be in my prayers on this night and each night that will come to follow; I only hope that she proves worthy of joining my house in full, lest she face the same fate as her sire.

May Lord Dagoth watch over you, Nevena, for I look upon you with hope that you will be everything Cerebel was not and that you will bring glory unto my house and not try to eat away at it as he once did. 

So long as you act in good faith towards my house, I will protect you, Nevena—of this I swear on all that I am. I will show you what it is to be Dagoth and you will be greater than I could ever hope to be—of this too—I swear.

_-Dagoth Milos, Former High Priest of Kirinibbi_


	13. Intermission I, Part V: An Act of War

**Intermission I, Part V: An Act of War**

_By Eno Dralam, Buoyant Armiger_

The Holy City has always had a certain mystique about it. The way it’s structured, the fact that its fate lies suspended in time by Lord Vivec, the people who call it home, there’s so much about it that I can’t help but admire; there is no place in all the world more fitting of being named after Lord Vivec than this place, but it has been defiled. The Sixth House has acted brazenly in the past, even going so far as to deny the Tribunal their right to the Heart, but this, this is an act of aggression that defies understanding. Who are they to strike at the heart of the Holy City? Who are they to strike at the heart of the Warrior-Poet? 

Never before has the Sixth House acted on such a large scale, but now, the entirety of the Holy City is at risk. If the Afflicted are not purged from below, then they will surely bubble up tot the Holy City proper and countless will die. Because of what though? Because the Sixth House wishes to preach their heresies? They wish to indulge the Sharmat? 

No longer can this be permitted. No longer will I stand idly by as the Archcanon bides his time in a ‘wait-and-see’ approach towards the Sixth House. A thousand people in the City Below moan into the night from the tumors ravaging their bodies and the people in the Holy City go to sleep not knowing if it will be the last night they have before the Corprus-infected people of the City Below rise up and rip them apart like insects. I will not stand for this. My people should not live in fear of their kinsmen or of the Sixth House and if the Archcanon will hold back my cousins in the Order of War, then so be it, but he is not my master and I will not be beholden to him selling out my people out of fear of becoming his predecessor. I will avenge the people of the City Below for no man deserves this fate, regardless of the immoral and wicked life he may have lived. 

Lord Vivec teaches us courage and he tells us to act when it is time, so let me say this to the world: It is time for action!

It is time for us to stand up to the Heretics of the Sixth House!

It is time for us to storm their bases and rip them apart, piece-by-piece and limb-by-limb!

For every man, woman, or child who falls in the coming days to the mace of the ordinators sent below to purge the City Below, I will extract my pound of flesh from these monsters. I will take from them everything they have taken from us. I swear it to you all. 

The Sixth House will pay for this. 

All of them will.

I swear it.

_-Eno Dralam, Avenger of the City Below_


	14. Part IX: The First Sacrament

**Part IX: The First Sacrament**

_By Nevena Dals, Disciple of Cerebel_

Its been a few weeks since we left the Holy City and I figured we’d make more progress towards Red Mountain, but Milos assures me that there are things more important than reaching Lord Dagoth. He speaks to me of rituals and rites that must be adhered to and I find myself feeling concerned about the degree of conviction in his voice as he speaks of these rituals, because though we once stood as agents of two opposing faiths, we both stood as members of the Clergy, but the Temple never placed as much weight on rituals—at least not like this. Certainly, many laymen looking to devote themselves to the Temple would undergo the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces, but that was about emulating the deeds of Lord Vivec, not about trying to make oneself worthy of joining the Temple proper, but things are different in the Sixth House. There are different values. Different views. And I am struggling to accept all of these differences so quickly, but Milos assures me that I am a fine student and that he takes great pride in my willingness to learn the ways of the Sixth House. 

That is one thing that troubles me. I lack his conviction and I’ve always lacked it, even when I knelt before the Masters of the Temple and they laid hands on me and ordained me an Adept, I still lacked that conviction. I don’t know how or why they chose me to be ordained as a Priestess instead of having me serve as a member of the Laity, but they did. It wasn’t a matter of faith, unless they mistook my doubts as a sign of some hidden depths and unseen profundity, but I never knew the Masters to make mistakes like that. Then again, I never much knew the Masters at all. I suppose that even they were fallible and saw in me what they wished to see, not what actually was, and maybe Milos is doing the same thing. Maybe he’s seeing something that isn’t really there, because he can not or will not look at the real me. I don’t know. I hope not though. I hope that he sees me for what I am, but I suppose it does not matter, because today is the day I undergo the First Sacrament and it is the day that I shed the last vestiges of who I once was and give myself in whole to the Sixth House.

It is the day I forego my hereditary house and instead become a member of my chosen house: House Dagoth, but I am afraid. I can not help but feel a twinge of fear as I think about it, but I do think it is for the best and I know that at this point, I have no other options. My eyes have shriveled into small, black pebbles and my face has become concave as the bones have slowly disintegrated into dust or ash—I can not be sure which—but either way—I am no longer what I once was. Milos tells me that this is to be expected and that soon the skin of my face will grow desiccate and disintegrate as the bones of my face did, but somehow I don’t feel afraid of becoming as the Ash Zombies appear. It just feels so—trivial. Like it does not matter what I appear to be, because there are things with so much more importance swirling around in my head. Too much, but that’s okay. Things will be okay. I know it. I trust that undergoing the sacraments is what I need. At least, it is what I think I need.

Milos spoke to me of the history behind the First Sacrament and how it dates back to the relationship between Lord Dagoth and the Heartwights. 

He told me how in the early days after the Battle of Red Mountain, the Tribunal hunted down members of the Sixth House out of fear they would rise up for their betrayal of their master and how his seven most faithful followers organized the other members in hiding. The Tribunal discovered these seven and executed them all, but Lord Dagoth recovered each of them and bound them to the Heart of Lorkhan as he had bound himself, knowing quite well that doing so would weaken his connection to it. But he did it and said unto these followers who would become known as the Heartwights: “Share of my soul and of my heart and become eternal, for through me, you shall live forever.”

As for the actual details of the First Sacrament, Milos has said little. He tells me that I must be willing to have faith and be willing to accept Lord Dagoth’s salvation, just as he did, and just as the Heartwights did, or it shall be for not. I just hope that I am not making a mistake as I sit here in the dark waiting for him, but I trust that Milos will not lead me astray. I only hope that my trust is not misplaced.

_-Nevena Dals, Sixth House Aspirant_


	15. Part X: Celebration of the First Sacrament

**Part X: The Celebration of the First Sacrament**

_By Dagoth Milos, Former High Priest of Kirinibbi_

The gaping hole in my side has soaked through yet another set of bandages and every breath I take reminds me of it, but as I watch her sleep, I must confess that I feel the quiet sense of satisfaction that only a good shepherd may know. She tosses and turns in her sleep as the fever and delirium of the Sacrament overtakes her, but I do not fear for her as she moans into the night, because I know she is stronger than I could hope to be. She is greater than I could aspire to be and as she dreams, Lord Dagoth will speak unto her as he once spoke unto me, and she will be reborn as a daughter of the Sixth House and she will be everything that I wish I could be. She will be the one to restore our house to glory, of this I know to be true.

I remember the day I went through with the First Sacrament and how my body had been ravaged by Corprus and how I clung to my sanity by only a few threads as every part of my body felt ablaze from the divine disease pumping through my veins. Dagoth Sanur took his blade and carved from his arm a chunk of flesh and cast it at my feet and spoke aloud, “Eat of my flesh and of my soul and be made eternal through me.” And I did. I tore small bites off from it and chewed it slowly; it was macerated and every bite released more of the bitter, pungent blood that had left his arm-flesh almost spongelike, but I ate of it until there was nothing left and I felt a great fever set down upon me as it had set down upon her. I thought death was nearing as I fell asleep before Dagoth Sanur, but death did not come, only dreams of Lord Dagoth. 

When I awoke, the Corprus did not bother me as it once had and the tumors had begun to recede, but I was beginning to undergo the transformation I already see in her. She denies her discomfort with it, but I know she is afraid of the coming changes as she frequently presses her hand against her face and feels it, almost to verify that it’s still there. But it doesn’t matter what she looks like, because we are all remade by Lord Dagoth’s Blessing. 

I’m changing the bandages now, but I find there aren’t many left. Perhaps I took too much of myself, but it does not matter if I die now, because she has been brought into the fold in full. Lord Dagoth will teach her what I can not if I do not survive to see the dawn, but that is okay. I have failed my house by not killing the Abomination when I had the chance, but she, she is my redemption. She is my atonement. She is my magnum opus and my greatest achievement, even if I am nothing more than a mere teacher to her of what my house is and what it stands for. She will be everything I could never hope to be for my house and for my god; she will bring about for a new era for the Sixth House and I am blessed to have been the one to celebrate the First Sacrament with her. 

Lord Dagoth, hear me if ever you have before, protect my pupil and give her safe passage into the Red Mountain if I do not survive through the night; I have failed you, but she has not. She bears the Mark of the Abomination, but through that Mark, she may serve you greater than I could ever aspire to, greater than any of us could ever aspire to. 

Please, Lord Dagoth, hear my prayers: Do not forsake this one. She will bring about a new era for the Sixth House and will restore it to its former glory, of this I know to be true. I see it in her. She is lost and confused, but she speaks as you do and she will be the greatest of your generals in the upcoming war if only you hear her. 

Let her be my act of atonement, Lord Dagoth.

Of this, I beg of you.

_-Dagoth Milos, Former High Priest of Kirinibbi_


	16. Part XI: A Time for Action

**Part XI: A Time for Action**

_By Eno Dralam, Leader of the People’s Army_

There are no words that describe the look in a man’s eyes when he realizes that there is no escape; it is a silent resignation to the reality that death comes for him and it is one I find myself becoming increasingly familiar with as I fight side-by-side with the few brave enough to take the plunge into the Undercity alongside me. The Archcanon minces words with Grandmaster Sala and Grand Marshal Omayn, but the time for words is over; it’s a time for action if we are to save the Holy City and as I look to my left and my right, I realize that if there’s any hope for this city or for my people, it doesn’t lie with the Archcanon or the Ordinators, or even my order, it lies with people like me and like those with me standing up for our homes and for our lives. No longer can we stand by and trust in the institutions of the Tribunal, because they have become bloated, corpulent bodies doing nothing except that which is propelled forth by inertia alone. 

The people who stand with me as we wade through the Undercity, walkway by walkway and node-by-node, are not people of great repute. They are not warriors or heroes by any means, but they know that if we are to survive, then it will be by our own actions. They know that if we stand by, then our ‘leaders’ as they are so called, will continue to talk and talk and talk until there’s nothing left to talk about because all they talked about will be in ashes from their indecision and refusal to take action! 

No more talking!

No more waiting! 

We have waited long enough for action from our leaders and they have met these acts of terror from the Sixth House with more and more talk, but they aren’t the ones who see these people’s macabre silhouettes as they shamble about in the dark. They aren’t the ones hearing the moans of these people who have been twisted and broken by the Sixth House’s foul plagues. They aren’t the ones suffering, so they don’t care how much we lose to the Sixth House; they only care that their holdings within our homeland are preserved, but do they deserve to have these holdings when they won’t stand with us against those who destroy everything we’ve fought to build and protect?

I say no!

But the time for their reckoning will come, but today is not that day. Today, I stand here with the people willing to risk life and limb for their kinsmen and for their home, because it is what is right, and I once thought that to be true of the Temple, but they have strayed from the teachings of Lord Vivec. Lord Vivec taught us to be strong; he taught us to know when to take action, but here I stand, not side-by-side with my brothers or my cousins, but with the common men and women of the Holy City who have chosen to take matters into their own hands. 

To the Sixth House, I say to you, this is the beginning of a new era. We will purge every man, woman, and child you infected beneath the Holy City and then we will find each and every one of your bases and your cultists and we will destroy them as you tried to destroy our most sacred of cities, but as to you who did this, who condemned these people to death: I will be the one to extract justice from you. You will call out to your dark god as I extract a pound of flesh for every man, woman, and child who dies to me or my men beneath the Holy City and you will pray for death a thousand times over and only when your body is too weak to break again will you be allowed that small mercy. 

The Sixth House shall fall and it will be we, the common people of Morrowind, not the Ordinators, not the Buoyant Armigers, but the people who will suffer the ceaseless talking of our leaders no longer, who will be the ones to tear it apart.

For Morrowind! For Nerevar! For Vivec!

_-Eno Dralam, Leader of the People’s Army_


	17. Part XII: Loss

**Part XII: Loss**

_By Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House_

  


My dreams after the Sacrament were unlike anything I had ever experienced before, even with Cerebel. They were something more than real, but I can’t describe it; I don’t think anything I say could make someone understand without having first experienced it, but what I witnessed was beautiful in ways that defy description. How can one describe what it is to bask in the presence of a god? The only way I can describe it is like laying out in the sun and feeling completely safe, but even that fails to encompass what I felt when Lord Dagoth laid hands upon me. What I felt with him, it just can’t be put into words; the trappings of language are too frail to explain what it is to stand in the presence of a god and to hear him welcome you into his house, but I will never forget it. I’ll never forget what it was like to feel Lord Dagoth’s presence and to know that he has welcomed me into his house.

  


As for Milos though, I am growing concerned. He has soaked through all of his bandages and the scraps we rip off from our clothes are doing little to halt the bleeding and I worry his time is nearing its end. He tells me not to worry. He tells me that Lord Dagoth will protect me and guide me if he is to die, but I’m not ready for him to go. I won’t allow it. But he says that some things are meant to be and that if it is his time, it is his time.

  


I hate that about him.

  


I hate that and I hate how much I’ve come to care about him.

  


I remember in Kirinibbi when I first met him. I remember the look in his eyes and how he told us that the only thing that saved us from death was the good grace of Lord Dagoth, but that’s not the man lying here with me in this cave. That was someone else. Someone I don’t even know anymore. I don’t even think he knows him anymore, but that’s okay. He doesn’t need to worry about his past right now; he needs to worry about his future.

  


He tells me not to waste my energy on him anymore, but I can’t just leave him to die. I can’t. He’s my friend. More than a friend. He’s someone—I don’t know—someone I think I love? Not romantically, but he’s special. I just don’t know how to save him and I can’t lose him, not like I lost Cerebel. Not like I lost Eno. I can’t keep losing people. I just can’t.

  


He keeps telling me that attachments are a dangerous thing unless they are to the right things, but he doesn’t understand. How could he? Who or what has he ever lost? I suppose I don’t know the answer to that question; I’ve never really probed much into who he was before Kirinibbi, but I don’t want to accept that he’s right, even if I know he is. I hate it. I hate knowing he’s right about attachments, but I can’t just not care. Asking that of me is like asking me to stop breathing or to stop eating; I just can’t do it. But I don’t know if I can save him either. My magics have done nothing to staunch the bleeding and we’re running out of clothes to rip apart to stuff the wound.

  


I just don’t want to accept that this might be the end for him.

  


I don’t want to lose him.

  


Please, Lord Dagoth, save him. I beg this of you as your humble servant and I surrender myself to you in all that I am, just please, do not let Milos die like this. Please. Hear my prayers and save my friend. I beg this of you, please, don't let him be taken from me like all the others.

  


_-Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House_


	18. Part XIII: An Old Flame Extinguished

**Part XIII: An Old Flame Extinguished**

_By Eno Dralam, Leader of the People’s Army_

The Purges are almost over and as I walk through the ruins of what was once a thriving community beneath the Holy City, there are tears in my eyes as step over the bodies of all the people who had to die. I do not know their names or who they were, but I know they were my people and they deserved better than to die in a place where even the sun does not tread. Everyone deserves better than that, but life isn’t about what we deserve; it’s about the reality. They were sick and it wouldn’t have been long before they broke into the Holy City above and spread their affliction to the rest of the good people of the Holy City, but it’s still not their fault. They were just the victims and their deaths are meaningless. If the Temple had acted against the Sixth House and actually eradicated them as they should have, these people would be alive, but they aren’t. They’re just—gone. Because bureaucratic priests and officers care more about how they look to outsiders than they do about their own people. They should be the ones down here. They should be the ones looking at these corpses and dropping tears on them. But they’re not, because they don’t care. It’s not their problem. It’s the problem of people like me and of those who follow me. 

I must confess though, today is a painful day for me for more than just the deeds that have been done in my name. Today, one of the men recovered something from one of the dead that belonged to me. Something I hoped I’d never see again, but he handed it to me after he finished pillaging the dead and I couldn’t believe my eyes. My old St. Nerevar pendant. I would’ve denied it had it not had my name engraved in the back, but my eyes did not deceive me, no matter how much I wished they had. 

My mother had given me this pendant when I was seventeen years old and told her I had plans to join the Buoyant Armigers. She cried in my arms that day and she tried to talk me out of it, but my mother never could change my mind, ALMSIVI rest her soul. My father died when I was a boy because he had these delusions of grandeur that he’d make a career out of being an adventurer and my mother saw my decision as becoming just like my father. 

For weeks, she couldn’t look at me and on the off chance she caught a glance, she would burst into tears because, as she put it, her only child was going to die. 

It was when she finally made her peace with my decision that she gave me that pendant and she told me that though she knew I was becoming an adult, she still couldn’t bare the thought of losing me. But she did. She lost me the day I left our home in Maar Gan, because I got caught up in my duties as a Buoyant Armiger and the sense of fraternity I felt with my brothers and sisters. 

I never went back and saw her and one day, a messenger sent me word of her funeral being held in a week’s time.

I cried that day as much as she cried when I told her of my plans. I couldn’t believe she was gone. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. But I had to accept it. The last talk I ever had with my mother was her giving me that pendant and telling me she knew I’d be okay, because St. Nerevar would always watch over me. I still that think back to that day more than I care to admit; it’s one of my few regrets that that was our last conversation. I always told myself I’d go back, but I never did, and then she was just gone.

She looked beautiful when I went to her funeral, more beautiful than any woman in all the world and her friends told me how she’d always talk about her son, the Buoyant Armiger. About how I was all she ever talked about. And I thought for a long time about how even though I wrote to her frequently, I never took time away from the Ghostfence and from my duties to see her. And now I’d never have the chance again. It was difficult to accept that and I spoke to the Grand Marshal and requested time for a sabbatical, which she allowed understanding my grief.

I didn’t go back to Maar Gan after that. Too many people I knew. Too many memories. Too many reminders that I never came back, so I went somewhere I knew I could get lost: Balmora.

I never liked Balmora and I still don’t. You’ll find no place in all of Vvardenfell or even Morrowind with more bureaucracy, corruption, and lies, but it was where I needed to be. I needed to get lost and everyone knows there’s no place better to forget who you are than a place where nobody’s real. 

It was good for me for a while. I drank. I played cards. I even did a few jobs here and there that I’m not proud of, but that’s not what’s important. What’s important is that I met a woman there that changed my life. She was nothing special by any means. She was a street urchin who made her living conning tourists and fools out of their money, but there was something about her that I liked. Maybe it was the fact that underneath that con artist exterior, she actually cared about people. She was always careful with who she’d target, making sure she didn’t con somebody who had spent their life savings coming out here; she went for the Hlaalu bigwigs, the Imperial Governors, the people who dropped more money on a bottle of aged flin than most people make in a lifetime. She had a sense of honor about how she did things and I couldn’t help it, it made her more than just a street urchin conning people—it made her the woman who caught my eyes. Her name was Nevena Dals and I fell in love with her.

It wasn’t overnight, but she and I, we came to knew each other at the tables in Eight Plates. I was the only person who could beat her at Seven Dukes or Scribstack and though she didn’t show it, you could tell it used to grate at her. It used to eat at her something fierce and one night, after I was a bottle of sujamma deep and she was stone cold sober, she jumped me outside Eight Plates and told me if she ever saw me on her tables again, she’d kill me. She was lying, but she did storm out next time she saw me sit down at the tables in Eight Plates.

She eventually caught me in the streets and asked why I wouldn’t let her have Eight Plates when she knew I had the tables at Council Club and South Wall and that’s when I told her I knew she only played here (she had been kicked out of Council Club and South Wall for bringing cards in up her sleeves). I remember that face she made. That angry little pout where her whole face scrunched up right before she tried to punch me. Didn’t work out for her, but I think she saw an easy mark when I looked at her while I was still holding that fist of hers. 

One thing led to another that night and before we knew it, we were waking up the next morning at my little apartment on the west end of town. She didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to say. We just—didn’t say. But it didn’t change that she found her way into my apartment most nights and most of those nights, we shared a bed—amongst other activities—and we got to know each other. 

I learned how her favorite flowers are the Pink Willows of Vvardenfell and how her favorite type of music was actually Argonian Street Whistling and how when she was a little girl, she always dreamed about going to Mournhold and seeing the City of Magic and Lights. The more I learned about her, the more I fell in love with her. She was everything to me, really. She completed me in ways I didn’t know I needed to be completed. She was everything and that’s why I gave her my St. Nerevar pendant. I wanted her to have it so that nothing bad would ever happen to her, because I—I couldn’t really bear the thought of something happening to her.

I remember writing Grand Marshal Omayn and requesting permission to withdraw from the Buoyant Armigers, because I couldn’t just leave her. I couldn’t leave this woman who was so—perfect—for me, but things don’t always work out the way you hope. They always work out, but not always the way you hope. I remember coming back to my apartment one night after a job and all her things were gone. There was no letter. No real goodbye. She was just gone. 

I spent weeks searching all over Balmora for her or any signs of where she could’ve gone, but nobody knew. Nevena had disappeared from the City of Masks like a ghost and though I chased and chased, I couldn’t find her. Wherever she had gone, she left no trail and though it killed me, I eventually had to let her go. I couldn’t keep chasing her—not forever. But I wish I had kept chasing, because maybe then, she wouldn’t be dead, but I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s just another mistake—another regret. 

I just hope wherever Nevena is, she knows I’ll make things right for her. 

I let her down all those years ago when I stopped chasing her and now she lies here, her body mutated by the Corprus and cut down by one of my men, and she’s dead because I gave up on her all those years ago. If I hadn’t have given up on tracking her down, she’d still be here. She’d be alive.

I only hope wherever you are, Nevena, you know I will make this right; I can’t change my past and I should’ve never given up on you, but I will avenge you. There is no force, man or god, on this world or any other who will stop me or my army from avenging your death and the death of every good person who died here because of their hatred of all that is we stand for. They pay a thousand fold for every good person who died here, Nevena. I swear it. 

You will be avenged, Nevena. I swear it.

_-Eno Dralam, Leader of the People’s Army_


	19. Part XIV: Epiphanies

**Part XIV: Epiphanies**

_By Dagoth Milos, Teacher of the Ash Mystic_

The bleeding has stopped and the wound is beginning to heal, slowly, but the process has begun. Nevena feigns surprise, but she does not fool me. She thinks I sleep soundly but my sleep is empty and dreamless without Lord Dagoth and I am quick to waken, especially to her prayers which are not nearly as quiet as she thinks. I am coming to realize that I was wrong about her though; she is not my reflection. She is not everything I wish I was; she is more than that and I do not speak of a quantitative difference, but of a qualitative one. She is like her predecessor in so many ways and it haunts me to look upon her and to see the Abomination—to see Cerebel—because Cerebel was my greatest mistake, but not in the manner I thought. 

I laid here slowly bleeding to death in this cave because I was a celebrant of the First Sacrament when I did not stand in the Grace of Lord Dagoth. My life was only spared because of her prayers, not because of my actions in service to our house or my decades of loyalty, but because of her. I do not hold malice towards her for this, but I am coming to realize my mistake. I looked upon Cerebel as a usurper and a parasite upon my house, but he was not; he was a reformer. He saw the growing poison within our hearts and within our souls and he knew that if the House was to survive, it would not be by the dogmas we had adhered to for millennia, but through a renaissance of sorts within the House. And I sought to kill him for it. I sought to unmake Cerebel for trying to draw forth the poison in our hearts and trying to cleanse us of it. I nearly killed him or maybe I did kill him, because I did not understand him. I was afraid of him. If things had gone differently at Kirinibbi, if I had slowed down and broke away from Lord Dagoth’s dogmas and learned to trust my own instincts and my own heart, maybe all those people beneath the Betrayer’s City wouldn’t have undergone the Second Sacrament. Maybe they wouldn’t still be languishing in agony from being forced to undergo something they were never meant to. 

Maybe.

I remember the day I met Cerebel. He had crawled into the mouth of Kirinibbi seeking refuge from the freezing rains and the starving nix hounds that had chased him even in the cold thinking that he would find shelter until they passed on, but he did not anticipate the watchful eye of Dagoth Quorin. But even as he was dragged into the heart of Kirinibbi, he did not scream or beg or plead, he accepted his fate with a quiet resignation and I saw within him potential. He became my protégé, just as Nevena has become, but things were different between him and I than they are between her and I. 

I was a teacher to him, as I am to her, but Cerebel did not hold the same reverence for me that she does; she sees me as her priest and he saw me as his equal. He would not trust in my words alone as she does; he would force me to defend the doctrine and dogmas of the House to him, even after he had undergone the First and Second Sacraments, but there was more to it than raw defiance. He did not demand these things out of some interest for an opportunity to play Devil’s Advocate to our dogmas, or even out of genuine search for knowledge; it was always his way of forcing me to think beyond the confines of what Sanur had taught me and I hated him for it, but I realize more and more that I hated him for all the wrong reasons.

He saw through me the imperfections of Lord Dagoth and he saw the potential for something more in me, but I was afraid of him and of what he was becoming. Though he became incomprehensible even to me, I still know that in those final moments at Kirinibbi, he did not wish me ill for what had transpired or I would have been swept from existence as most of my congregants were. Even in those final moments, he still saw in me a chance for something more, just as I see in her.

Cerebel, wherever you are, I hope you can forgive me for my transgressions against you; I was wrong. I looked upon you with fear and I deemed you an enemy, but it was not you who was the enemy to my house, but the dogmas, the doctrine, the ancient laws we cling to because we are afraid to move forward. You tried to show me that and I returned your kindness with an act of malice and I do not deserve your forgiveness, but know that I will continue to teach your pupil in your stead until either I am unable or you should return. I will never be able to make restitution for my transgressions against you, Cerebel, but I will carry out your vision and I will protect your pupil until I am unable to. 

I swear this to you on all that I am, Cerebel the Reformer. 

Wherever you are, know that I stand with you and with your teachings.

_-Dagoth Milos, Teacher of the Ash Mystic_


	20. Part XV: The Burdens of Family

**Part XV: The Burdens of Family**

_By Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House_

Things are moving faster now that Milos is starting to recover, but even still, he’s not at his full and our journey to Kogoruhn goes slow, but at least there is progress. He tells me that it doesn’t matter how fast or slow we get there, as long as we get there, but he doesn’t hear Lord Dagoth as I do. He doesn’t hear Lord Dagoth’s impatience as we inch along day-by-day because Milos is still too weak to go much further and if he did, he would tell me to leave him behind, but I can’t do that. I can’t abandon Milos, not in the state he’s in; the first bandit or caravan he crossed would make short work of him and I can’t leave him to die, even if he is slowing me down. Family doesn’t leave each other behind and he is my family.

He senses my own discomfort at our pace though and he pushes himself as hard as he can. I don’t think it’s helping much, because while we may get another a mile or two closer, his wound isn’t given time to rest like it was back in the cave, but I can’t deny him this. I wish he’d slow down. Actually, I wish he was just better, but even my prayers are not enough for Lord Dagoth to allow him that. Whatever his indiscretion, he has fallen from the grace of our lord and I fear that when we reach Kogoruhn and make the passage into the Red Mountain, he will not be welcomed as I will be. I worry for him, even though he tells me not to. He says it is a waste of my time to worry about him, but I can’t help it. I love him. He’s done so much for me and asked for so little in return and I can’t bear the thought of losing him. 

I lost my parents when I was young and that’s how I ended up on the streets of Balmora. I never intended to start playing the tables and cheating people out of their money, but when you’re a kid with no home and no money, you have to do what you have to do and I did it. I took more money off those tables over the years than some of those Hlaalu had ever seen and you know, that worked for a while, but it didn’t work for replacing my family. I knew how to get by, but couldn’t go to my mother the first time I fell in love or run to my father when a couple of Nords who lost all their money chased me down and beat me bloody. I just—was alone. I had nobody and now I have somebody and I don’t want to lose him. I can’t lose him. It’s so tough going back to being alone.

I sometimes even think about that Buoyant Armiger I used to be with—kind of. Eno had so many amazing things about him, like the way he’d go off to the Plateau to pick me fresh Willows sometimes or how he’d give me that cocky, half-smile when I told him I wasn’t in the mood. He was just—right—in so many ways, but those things, they couldn’t change the ways he wasn’t right. Like he saw the way that Gilyn would look at me at Eight Plates when he’d get time away from the Egg Mine and he couldn’t stand it. He hated Gilyn for how he’d look at me, not that Gilyn ever had much of a chance, but Eno always felt—threatened. Like he was afraid somebody like Gilyn would steal me away from him and I remember seeing Gilyn one day; he was terrified of me and judging by the look of him, rightfully so. Eno had beaten him within an inch of his life for the way he kept looking at me and that was the scariest thing that ever happened to me. More than losing my parents. More than the Nords. More than the time I thought I was pregnant. It was how Gilyn looked—how he was barely recognizable from all the swelling and how he only had a few teeth left. 

I didn’t want to leave Eno, but I couldn’t—handle—that. I couldn’t be with him, even for all those amazing qualities like the way he’d write those poems about me or how he’d run his fingers through my hair as he told me how he’d never let anything happen to me. He meant it even then and I don’t think he ever meant to do the things he did to Gilyn, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t stay with a man with that kind of temper. My father had that kind of temper and even when I was young, I watched him go on benders drunk off sujamma and how the guards would hold him in one of their towers until he sobered up. 

I had to leave Eno behind, because I couldn’t be with someone that dangerous. I couldn’t—support—the things he had done to Gilyn and would do again if I didn’t just disappear, but I can’t leave Milos behind, even if it’s what Lord Dagoth calls on me to do. I won’t. I just hope Lord Dagoth will forgive me for my sins, but I can’t leave behind my friend. Family doesn’t leave behind family and we are all family in Lord Dagoth’s house.

_-Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House_


	21. Part XVI: The Pilgrim from Maar Gan

**Part XVI: The Pilgrim from Maar Gan**

_By Dagoth Milos, Teacher of the Ash Mystic_

These past few days have been hard for me and Nevena sees it, but she says nothing. She is kind to me and I am undeserving of it, but that does not change that at her core, she is a kind person. I only wish she would do what’s best and leave me like she knows she should, but she won’t. It’s not in her nature. I just wish it was. I’m holding her back and we both know it, but she denies it when I mention it. She talks of how she needs me, because family means nobody gets left behind, but she doesn’t understand that in the grand scheme of things, I am insignificant. If I get left behind, the only one who will mourn me is she, but she does not accept that despite my insistence. I only wish she would, but I will not leave her of my own volition. I must protect her as long as I can and ensure she reaches Kogoruhn safely—from there—she will have safe passage to Lord Dagoth and I, I will be given what I am due for my crimes against the House, but I do not fear my death, for I know she will do what Cerebel sought to and the House will be remade as he knew it could be. I find solace in knowing that I meet my end at Kogoruhn and knowing that she will be given an audience with Lord Dagoth. Things will fall into place as they must and I am grateful to be a part of that.

But there are things that still concern me as we make this journey. A pilgrim crossed our path as we walked and though I am weak, my magics are not. I had him paralyzed and ready to coup de grace before he realized the gravity of his error, but Nevena stood over him as I readied my blade to end his life. She denied me that coup de grace with arguments of how he posed no threat to us, but I knew she was wrong. I knew that he was a threat, even if he himself was not, because he would be a messenger to those who would do us harm. She didn’t care. She wouldn’t move from over him and even as I tried to edge around her, my wounds left me unable to get past her. 

We argued as the Pilgrim there paralyzed by both fear and spell and I screamed at her to let me do what needed to be done, but she would not. 

She stood over him with the protective instincts of a mother until I finally agreed not to harm him and then I watched her kneel down beside him, brushing her slender fingers through his hair as she spoke to him. Her tone was gentle as she told him that he was safe—that they weren’t going to hurt him, even though I had said I wanted to kill him—and I watched as he slowly regained movement. 

He was scared and there were tears in his eyes and his pants were wet with piss, but he didn’t shy away from her. He just laid there in still silence as she soothed his fears and kept comforting him and I watched as he looked up at her with those young eyes of his and then she did it. I watched her rip the dagger from her boot and plunge it up into his jaw and through into his brain cavity, killing him instantly. 

I did not think she understood the gravity of the situation as she stood over him, denying me that coup de grace, but I was mistaken. 

I thought she wanted to spare him, but she only wanted to give him a peaceful death—as peaceful as she could and it is these moments that remind me of why it is so imperative I protect her over the coming weeks. Her heart feels not only the troubles of our House, but of all of us, and for that reason, she will be the bridge that brings us back into acceptance with the rest of our people. She will restore our house to its former glory and I am proud to stand with her, even if it as her burden. 

_­-Dagoth Milos, Teacher of the Ash Mystic_


	22. Part XVII: The Massacre of Sanurdipal

**Part XVII: The Massacre of Sanurdipal**

_By Eno Dralam, Sole Survivor of the People’s Army_

I took a group of potters, laborers, and other men and women who had business fighting a war and I plunged them into the heart of war they should’ve never been in and now they’re dead. Now they’re all dead. I look around and I see arms, legs, torsos, and even heads, and only a few can I recognize, but I smile at them even as I lay here dying myself, because they did more than we could ever ask of them. They gave their lives for their home and kin and they did so without reservation or doubt and I am proud that I was able to stand with them as we delved into the bowels of these profane halls and I am grateful they lay dead, because their death shall spare them the atrocities that await me. Though I am afraid, I do not cower, because they were brave as they marched in here knowing they would likely never see the sun again and I know that I shall never see it again either and I laugh a laugh of defiance at those foul fetchers so that they know I’m here, waiting. 

I wait with a spear in my gut and blood in my mouth, but I will kill as many as I can when they come for me and I know they will. They will want from me what I took from them and I will take even more—I will kill them all if I can! I have my spear and I have my courage and that’s all I need, just as it’s all they needed to follow me into the gates of hell. I will prove to them that their sacrifice was not in vain as I cut down any all of the priests who come for me, because that is what we came to do and I will not die until it is done. I will not die until every one of them is dead and gone! I will not give them the satisfaction of having killed Eno Dralam until they have suffered as the people of the City Below suffered!

I pray to you, Lord Vivec, give me the strength in my final hour so that I may do your will and vanquish those who brought a plague upon your holy city. Please, give me this, so that I may have get my vengeance in your name. I beg this of you, Lord Vivec, I must do this—for the people of the City Below, for the people who followed me—for Nevena. Please. Give me strength, Lord Vivec, please.

I will do anything to avenge my people, Lord Vivec. 

Anything.

_-Eno Dralam, Sole Survivor of the People’s Army_


	23. Part XVIII: The Siege of Sanurdipal

**Part XVIII: The Siege of Sanurdipal**

_By Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House_

Their screams raced across my mind with the penetrating force of a cliffracer’s shriek and I felt it from them. I felt the fear. The pain. The death. I felt their voices get cut short in the night as something—someone—set foot upon our territory and struck out at our people. Milos says that I should not lose my focus of getting to Kogoruhn, but he didn’t hear what I did. He didn’t hear the voices suddenly go silent or the heartbeats suddenly paused forever and that is why I do not trouble myself with his counsel on this matter; he doesn’t understand what it was like to hear their deaths all at once. He doesn’t know how it felt like a punch to the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of me on a deeper level than any punch could, and that’s why I’m going—with or without him.

I’ve already warned him that I will leave him here if I must, but there is a trouble stirring beneath Sanurdipal and I can not abandon them just as I can not abandon him, but if he forces me to make a choice, then I will do as I must for the greater good of the House. I don’t want to. I don’t want to leave out here, alone, in the great stretches of Molag Amur, but I won’t betray my house through inaction to sate his demands of me. He is my friend, but he is not my master, and if he should confuse that relationship, so be it, but I will not stand by as our people are laid up in siege. I will not and I can not allow this to continue; Lord Dagoth would not have shown me the troubles in Sanurdipal if not to take action. He knew what he was doing and I know what I am doing as his faithful servant; I will go to Sanurdipal and I will put a stop to whatever has done this, with or without Milos’ help.

He lectures caution.

He says that action without forethought is destined for failure, but these lectures are no different than the ones that Diviner Dolyn would give to me and maybe they are right, but is it worse to act recklessly and fail or to do nothing? I don’t know. I do know this though: if I stand by and do nothing—whoever—or whatever—is doing this to my brothers and sisters at Sanurdipal will continue and I will feel their thoughts go silent forever and I will not allow this. I will not stand by when my house is under siege and Milos should know that. He of all people, a High Priest, should be willing to stand with me, but he doesn’t. 

I do not know why or what drives him to be so afraid to take action, but I know that this is not only my fight, but the fight of all of us who bear the name Dagoth. But though Milos himself Dagoth, he has lost faith in Lord Dagoth; he has reclused into himself and that is why he considers the matter of Sanurdipal to be none of our concern and that is his mistake. He has fallen outside the grace of our lord and it shows in his isolationist attitude, but I can’t allow myself to be as such, for I must stay within the good graces of Lord Dagoth. It is what Cerebel would want, I know it. He knew that Lord Dagoth would teach me the great mysteries and if I should fall from his grace by becoming as Milos has, then everything I have done will have been in vain and I can’t—I can’t allow that. The road to Cerebel’s vision for me has been paved in my blood, my sweat, and my tears, and I will not give up everything I have worked towards because Milos doesn’t understand just what is at stake for me. 

He thinks himself so wise, so knowing, and in many ways he is, but he forgets his place. He forgets that Lord Dagoth knows things beyond either of our comprehension and it shows when he lectures me of the great reformation he thinks I am to bring to our house. He sees me as a bringer of some great change, of a new era, but he doesn’t realize that it is not my place to try and undo the foundations that Lord Dagoth has laid. Still he lectures though of how I will be everything our has needed for centuries, but I am not his pawn. I will not act against Lord Dagoth, even for Milos; it is through Cerebel that I realized the profundity of the universe and it is through Lord Dagoth that Cerebel became as he was. 

But I can’t find it in my heart to be angry at Milos, even for his, hubris. He is arrogant beyond measure, for how can one think they know more than a god, but his aspirations ae noble. He only wishes to see the Sixth House restored to its former glory and he doesn’t realize that it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t realize that gods do not concern themselves with the opinions of mortals and it is through Lord Dagoth that we will become as he is, but I understand his ignorance. He has not been touched by Cerebel I was; he lacks the perspective to realize that there are things in this world that matter far more than the standing of our house.

But at the end of the day, regardless of his lack of self-awareness and his ignorance of the truly important things, he has still been my mentor and my friend. More than a friend. He is my brother and I love him as such, but I can’t let him hold me back from doing the will of Lord Dagoth. I love him with all that I am, but to deny Lord Dagoth is to sacrifice all that I’ve done to get here, and I will not allow that to happen, not even for Milos. 

I only hope that Milos does not force me to decide, because I will do as I must, but it will be with a heavy heart that I do it if he does force me to do so. 

_-Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House_


	24. Part XIX: Forgiveness

**Part XIX: Forgiveness**

_By Dagoth Milos, Teacher of the Ash Mystic_

She speaks of Sanurdipal with such passion in her voice, as if she and she alone will stop the slaughter beneath the world, and hearing it burns with every word. She speaks with zeal in her voice and it is genuine; it is true. She has warned me that if I will not follow her to Sanurdipal, then she will leave me to die, and we both know that will happen if I am left to fend for myself in my current state, but she doesn’t know what I know of Sanurdipal. She doesn’t know the man who it is in memorial to. She doesn’t know him and I thank all the gods of all the faiths that she and no one will ever know Dagoth Sanur again, for killing him was the only thing in my life that I can truly look upon and say undoubtedly, “I made the world a better place through my actions.” She doesn’t know him and she’ll never him. None of them will and though he has been canonized within our house, they will never know the man he was—not the legend that has surrounded him. I knew the man and I killed the man and I would kill him and again and again, because I have always said that there is only one thing I am good at in this world and it is killing monsters and he, he was the greatest monster I have ever slain.

I remember the first time I heard about Sanur. We were connecting a joint-operation with the Order of War to strike at Endusal with hopes of collecting Kagrenac’s Journals, but things didn’t go as planned during that operation. They went wrong. So wrong. So many people, so many good men and women died when we tried to sack Endusal. Everything we did was wrong. He was one step ahead of us no matter what we did and it showed in our casualties. So many of my brothers and cousins never left the Red Mountain and I fear their bones have been scoured to a dust by the constant storming and I know that I should’ve gone back for them, but I couldn’t take them all. I couldn’t. I tried to take as many as I could home with us, but we were getting picked apart one by one. Everyone was dying. Everyone was getting ripped apart by Sanur’s monsters. We had to leave our brothers, our cousins, our family behind in the place we hated the most, because of that monster—because of Sanur. 

An Armiger is honest and every Armiger makes a promise never to leave a brother behind, but we did. We left a lot of brothers behind and we never got them all back. We’ll never get them all back. We just—we can’t. They’re just gone and we left them. We left all of them, because we were scared. We were scared of being left out there too; we were scared of being picked off like dogs. We were scared of him. He knew our every step, our every move, and he tormented us; he wouldn’t give us the luxury of simply overwhelming us and killing us all. This was more than war, this was Sanur at his finest: he was always a sadistic bastard and that operation was my first encounter with the infamous “General of the Sixth House”. 

He was everything I hated about the Sixth House. 

He was a monster in every sense of the word. 

He tormented us as he picked us off one-by-one, man-by-man, and we all wondered if we’d be next. We all wondered who wouldn’t go home. We all wondered and you know, there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I was one of the ones who didn’t make it back. They never came home, but that was it for them. They wouldn’t live to see the horrors that Sanur would unleash upon us at the Ghostgate and how bad things were until he died. Some consider me a traitor to my house for having killed the Priest who gave to me my first communion—who celebrated with me the First Sacrament—especially the General who broke the _infamous_ group of Buoyant Armiger’s, Vehk’s Fury, the group I was a part of, but I would rather traitor to my house than to myself and I will gladly wear the chains of their condemnation for having taken Sanur’s life. 

We of Vehk’s Fury regrouped after the failed operation and we began to act more autonomously, outside of the Grand Marshal’s battle plans, which earned us both respect and scorn from our brothers, but we got results. We moved as a team, as brothers, and we killed as many as we could. We would move throughout their territory and though Sanur knew of us, he could not stop us, because we moved with Vehk’s grace—we moved with the protection of a god, I swear this to be true, because we marched throughout the bowels of hell and we surfaced from them with our lives time and time again. We did to the Sixth House what Sanur did to us during that operation and we were glorious. We were heroes. We avenged our brothers even though we couldn’t save them, even though we couldn’t recover them, we made sure their deaths would be remembered by both sides of this foul war and Sanur grew to hate us more and more, but his potential for hatred was only matched by the twisted pleasure he drew from breaking people and I would discover that soon. 

We moved to bases randomly so that Sanur wouldn’t be able to plan for us and I remember when we stepped into that base; it was an enclave being used by contemplatives and monks, not soldiers, not warriors, not agents of the House, but we were angry. WE hated them with everything we had and we killed them all. One by one, we cut them down even though they offered no fight. One by one, we watched them die. One by one, they fell down and we joked about how we loved them running, because it gave us a chance to throw something at them as hard as we could or what they’d look like if we cut that ‘eel-face’ out. We thought we were heroes because we mowed them down, but they weren’t fighters. They weren’t warriors. We were animals and we killed them because we were angry. We killed them even though they did nothing to us, even though their ltitle enclave posed no military value, but we hated them and they had to die, so we slaughtered them like animals and we laughed as we did it. We cheered as we’d cut them down, like this was what our lives were all about, like this is what our brothers died for back during that failed operation. I knew those men who died; that’s not what they died for. They never would’ve even fought for it. They fought to protect the weak. They fought to protect their home. They didn’t fight because they wanted senseless bloodshed and that’s how we honored their memory, all that bloodshed, all that murder, all those crimes that I can’t escape, all of it was our sick way of trying to honor the dead. We pissed on everything they stood for and everything they believed when we went into that enclave and butchered those monks in their name, but all actions have a price and the price of my actions that day was the infinite hatred of Dagoth Sanur, as I had been the one who cut down his son, Dagoth Neris, and made him beg for his life even though I knew he was going to die like a miserable cur like all the others. I wanted them to suffer like we did and I made them suffer like we did and that’s what made me a monster. I didn’t focus my aggression on military combatants, on the Lost, or on anyone in particular—just on anyone wearing their colors and Neris, he was barely old enough to have hair on his chin and I cut him like a dog cause I hated him more than anything else in this world, cause I hated them all more than anything else, and I’m sorry, Neris. I’m so sorry, but I can’t change the past. I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t. But wherever you are, Neris, I want you to know, that I was wrong—I was so wrong. You were just a boy and I cut you down all the same, because I didn’t care about right and wrong; I just wanted to feel back in control. I just wanted to feel like my brothers were being avenged and I took it out on you and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. 

I remember that look on your face as you saw me lower my spear as you sobbed on your knees in front of me, begging to be spared. I remember your disbelief. You thought that you and you alone were going to be a survivor from all of this, but you weren’t, Neris. You weren’t. I put that spear in your gut and I ripped it out to watch your intestines fall out, like the Lost had done to Tervur. I wanted to see you suffer like they suffered, but you didn’t do anything wrong. You were just a kid trapped in a world you never should’ve been involved in and I killed you for it, and there is nothing I can do to right that wrong. I killed you, not because you had hurt me, but because I knew hurting you would hurt them—and I am sorry, Neris. You would be old now, Neris, maybe even old enough to have finally passed on anyways, but I didn’t give you that choice—that opportunity—because I was angry and now I stand here with centuries of hindsight and you are my biggest regret, Neris, because you were innocent and you died because I couldn’t control myself. 

I say it’s because I was angry, but that’s not the truth. I killed you because I was a monster. I had become your father was, Neris, and when I killed you in that massacre because I wanted to hurt them as much as they had hurt me—I didn’t realize what I do now. I didn’t realize that it’s not me, it’s not them, it’s the people like you who got hurt the most. It’s the people like you who always get hurt the most and I was the one doing the hurting and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Neris. 

Your father was broken by your death, Neris. The famed General of the Sixth House became obsessed with me for what I did to you and he hurt me, just like I hurt you, but it pales in comparison to what I did to you. He took from me my identity, just as I took your dignity and he took from me my lover, just as I took from you everyone you knew in the enclave. He took from me my humanity, just as I took from you, your life, but there is a difference between us. I was a warrior. I knew what my life entailed and I chose it willingly. You were a child in the care of monks and you had no choice, but I took from you just as though you did, and I am sorry, Neris. I am sorry that I wronged you as I did and I know that no words will change the past or my actions, but I believe that so long as I remember you, I will never allow myself to become as I became. I will never again become a monster like I was, I swear it. 

I remember when I first engaged your father face-to-face; he was not what I had anticipated. I expected a monstrosity with a thousand eels from his face, but I met a man who was more than the eel growing from his face. I met a man who took from me everything, just like I took from you everything. He cast unto me the Second Sacrament and I was forced to leave my home, my family, and the man I had given my life to and who had his given his to me, because I could not allow him to be the one forced to kill me. I could not bear the thought of Llevos being the one to hold the knife above my heart and our last goodbyes being followed by the destruction of both our hearts, even if only mine in the physical sense. 

Your father watched me as I wandered the Red Mountain, tortured by the growths which felt like fire everlasting, but he did not intervene even as I inched close to the brink of madness. He enjoyed watching it. He enjoyed knowing that I was wandering alone and lost, wracked with agony, because in his eyes, it was justice for what I had done to you, Neris. It was his sense of justice, but there can be no justice for a crime so great, only vengeance. There is no court in all the planes that can pass judgment on a transgression of that magnitude, but he thought himself as being worthy to judge me, and that is why he took his revenge and did not seize justice at all. He couldn’t, nothing can for such a tragedy, but he did try, and his hubris was his downfall.

He decided that simply being allowed to suffer forever as one of the Lost would not suffice, so he elected to offer to me the First Sacrament and I took it, because I had no choice unless I joined the ranks of the Lost, and I know now that it was merely a step towards his goal of punishing me for my crimes against not his house, not even him, but you, Neris. He offered me his own flesh so that I could be spared the madness of the Lost, because he did not deem that to be sufficient enough for my crimes. He did not think that suffering in agony as the tumors grow and burn forever was enough. He wanted to me in all of the ways I had hurt him and he did. He hurt me just as I hurt him.

I remember how my group kept moving even after my disappearance and your father, he used his men to kill them all, except for Llevos. Llevos could not be allowed to die. He had to live or your father’s plans for extracting more justice would have failed in their infancy, but they did get Llevos and your father made me watch as they tortured him. He made me watch as the man I loved more than I loved myself was broken bit-by-bit and piece-by-piece; they made me watch as they cut from him skin, flesh, bone, whatever they felt like and I had to watch and scream even though he could not hear me. I screamed with all I could for him to hold on, but he couldn’t hold on forever, and I remember when he was at the precipice of death, your father allowed me a chance to say my goodbyes. I thought it was an act of mercy, but it was not. It was no mercy of your father’s, Neris, he possessed no such thing. No, he allowed me to see and speak to him so that my lover would realize what had become of me and he did. He did see what became of me and he screamed with what little strength he had left, that I had become a monster. That I had become one of them. But I wasn’t one of them, I was still his. I was always going to be his, but Llevos didn’t see that. He only saw the slow transformation I was undergoing and how I was going to be one of the Eel-Faces that we killed so many of together and as his screams stopped, I watched him die. He had clung to hope that I was out there somewhere, holding out for him, but there I was before him, one of the monsters we had slain so many of together, and he just—stopped holding on. He just couldn’t do it anymore and I screamed into the void that I would kill them all for this, but there was no—power—behind it. I was broken and your father had been the one to break me, just as he had broken us during the Endusal Operation, but this time was much different. This wasn’t about him feeling powerful or his hubris, it was about hurting me as much as I had hurt him and to hurt me as much as I had hurt him, he hurt the person I cared the most about, just like I hurt the person he cared the most about, you, Neris. You. You were always the thing that kept him from—losing it—and I made you beg for your life even though I knew I would kill you in the most painful way I could think of, because I wanted to hurt him, like he had hurt me. 

That’s the thing with war, Neris. It’s never about the two people who are fighting. It’s about the people in the middle. The people we hurt to hurt the people we’re actually fighting. And do you want to know why I killed your father, Neris? I didn’t kill him, because he hurt me. I didn’t kill him because he killed Llevos. I killed him, because I had to stop the hurting. Not the hurting I felt, or that he felt, but the hurting that I did to you and that he did to Llevos. He was in so much pain, Neris, and I knew if I left him alive, he would hurt more and more people like you and Llevos. People who have nothing to do with the conflict in question, but people who can be hurt to hurt the people who have things to do with the conflict in question. I couldn’t allow more people to go through what you had gone through, what Llevos gone through, I couldn’t, and he was going to do that to more people. He was going to do that to anyone and everyone, because no matter justice he tried to extract from me, it would never be enough—there’s just simply not enough pain he can cause me to make up for what I did to you, Neris, and I knew that if I didn’t stop him, he would do it to others because he had to do something to cope with the pain of losing you and that was just trying to get justice that can never be got. 

If you’re out there though, wherever you may be, Neris, I want you to know that I did not take pleasure in killing your father. I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t feel satisfied. I felt hollow, because I had destroyed him in his entirety and his death was the coup de grace he so desperately needed and even though I consider him to be the greatest monster I’ve ever slain, I hope you know he didn’t die an evil man. Whoever he was before I did to you what I did, that’s not who he was after. He died a man whose entire existence was pain; he was like one of the Lost, but unlike them, he never truly let go of who he was before. He let go of his titles and his accolades, of his honors, but he could not let go of you, Neris, and that is why he had to die and why I had to be the one to kill him. I had to be the one to do it, because I’m the one who turned him into what it was he became. I’m the one who made him into more than a sadistic general; I made him into a monster who knew only pain and did what he could to alleviate it however he could, even if it meant hurting more people and creating more monsters. 

Killing your father, it wasn’t justice for Llevos or for those who never came home—it was forgiveness, because I could try to extract that justice just like I had before, and it would only continue the cycle of hurt. So I had to do the hardest thing I had ever done before: I had to forgive him and that meant being the one to spare him his pained existence through the mercy of death. I hope wherever you are, Neris, you understand that. I didn’t kill him, because I hated him. I killed him because I forgave him, because he was only a monster because I made him one. He was only a monster because I couldn’t forgive him for killing all of those people and I wanted justice, just like he did. He was only a monster, because of what I did to you, Neris, and that is why going to a place devoted to his memory pains me, because the man he died as, the man I killed, is a result of my greatest failure and that was you, Neris. That was always you and it will always be you.

If I had just—forgiven enough to forego my hubristic search for justice which was no different than a quest for vengeance—then you wouldn’t have died the way you did. You would’ve been allowed to choose your path in life, right or wrong, good or bad, whatever it may have been, you would have been able to choose, but I took that from you and I am sorry, Neris. I only hope that wherever you are, you can forgive me, because even though I can forgive your father for having taken everything from me, I can not forgive myself for this. I thought I could find forgiveness in Lord Dagoth, but I realized I was searching in the wrong places for forgiveness—it was never about him. It was about you. It was always about you and I pray that wherever you are, in whatever life you’re leading, if you’re leading any at all, you can forgive me, Neris. 

Regardless of whether or not you can forgive me though, Neris, I pray for you. I pray you find safe passage in your journeys and that your next life is as full as this one should have been; you deserve that more than anything else.

_-Dagoth Milos, Teacher of the Ash Mystic_


	25. Part XX: Umbra Hungers

**Part XX: Umbra Hungers**

_By Eno Dralam, Wielder of Umbra_

There is a certain taste to blood that you never really think about until you’ve drooled it out for so long that you almost forget its there at all until something shocks you back into realizing the grave nature of your state. I sat there with a spear in my gut and I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed and who came for me was not who I prayed to; it was someone different entirely, but welcome nonetheless. The man who came for me, he was something different than a man, but I do not know what, nor do I care, I only care that he was the one who saved me from the brink of death even as I recited poems and sang hymns to Vehk in hopes he’d hear me just once and give to me the strength I needed, but he did not. This stranger did though. He cared. He cared enough to tend to my wounds with magicks most powerful and beyond description and he spoke in a jovial tone despite the place we were and the field of bodies of all shapes and sizes that surrounded us. He only laughed at such things and told me it did not matter, because they were insignificant—they had a role to play and they had played it, but he saw something in me, something I do not know, but he saw it and that is why saved me from the brink of death.

He offered to me a sword blacker than the hearts of the priests of this profane city beneath the world and he told me that if I took it, it would be my undoing and that I would ultimately die to this sword and I dismissed him as a fool, but I did take that sword. I took that sword and I felt its tug immediately, the sort of tug like a woman’s charm, but colder—but meaner—but better. It took hold of me even faster than she did, all those years ago at Eight Plates, but I do not care about that woman anymore. She is dead and gone and it doesn’t matter how she died, only that she did. She’s never coming back and that’s okay. I don’t need her anymore. I don’t need anyone anymore: I have Umbra.

Umbra has given me what it was I always needed; it has given me freedom.

It has freed me of the greatest curse of all: Humanity. 

I used to feel things. Love. Anger. Hatred. Now I feel only a hunger that permeates every fiber of my being, but it is a hunger as welcome as that man, and I feel it. It is the hunger of a thousand year famine within me and it is a hunger not for things of mortal make, but of the only things mortals possess that is greater than they: their souls, but no souls are enough to sate this craving. Whether it is one or a thousand, the hunger will not stop nor will it calm—it will rage within me for as long as I carry this blade with me, but there is no price too great to pay for justice and with this blade, I shall have justice. 

The hunger grows and with it, I must resume my feasting on the priests of this place.

_-Eno Dralam, Wielder of Umbra_


	26. Part XXI: The Fallen City

Part XXI: The Broken City

By Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House

Milos didn’t want to come here, because he didn’t want me to risk my life trying to save our brethren here in this place, but I realize that he was right in that it wasn’t worth coming. They’re all dead, but something is more wrong even than this. I see the bodies of those who came here, who shocked me with that initial surge, but not of the ones who have continued to silence the voices of the others since that surge and I still feel more dying. I still hear their voices going silent one-by-one as these monsters kill my brothers.

Milos warns that we should leave before we meet whatever it is that is doing this, but I can’t leave. I have to stop this. I just—I have to. Cerebel gave me this gift and I can’t waste it because I’m afraid. I’ve always just—gone with things—because it’s been easier. It’s always been easier to swim with the current and not against it, but this time is different. This time, it’s bigger, but Milos—he doesn’t understand that. He can’t, because how can he feel the pain I feel when he can not hear the voices I hear? I don’t know. He does feel some pain though, some pain that he thinks he can hide from me, but he can’t. I can see it in him, eating at him, and it’s only gotten worse since we got here, so maybe he can feel it. Maybe he can feel the loss I do and maybe I haven’t given him enough credit, but I don’t know—I just know I’m glad that he came with me, because as we walk through these bloodstained halls, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I feel a primal fear that goes deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before, but I can’t stop. I won’t stop. 

I will admit though that knowing Milos stands with me, it makes that easier. More than he knows. He really is the best friend I’ve ever had and I am grateful for him more than words can describe, but he stands apart from my house. He wears the amulet and bears the scars of the House, but he stands outside it in his head—I know it. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have fought me so hard about coming here, but that is a problem we will address when whatever is doing this is dead. He must come to realize the error of his ways or he will not be welcomed with me when I kneel before Lord Dagoth and give of myself to him in whole as he has and I can’t let him go. I can’t imagine going to the Red Mountain without him, but he has to submit. He has to accept the teachings of the House as true or he will not join us. He has to. But he won’t. I know it. He thinks himself too as knowing more than Lord Dagoth and I see it in how he talks about the troubles the House faces and I just wish he’d realize that he is only a mortal and Lord Dagoth is a god—to think himself greater is preposterous by any account, but Milos, for all of his brilliance, is not without his blind spots. 

I just hope he comes to realize that if we make it out of here—if. It’s a big if and as we make our way through the caverns and I see more bodies of my brethren and none of theirs, I worry more. I am a mere acolyte and Milos is a fallen priest. I have training in the arcane arts and so does he, but I—I have no idea what could do something like this. What could kill so many of our brethren without falling itself? I do not know, but I am afraid. Milos tells me that I don’t need to be—that he will protect me from whatever it is that did this, but I don’t want to lose him to this either. But he will die either way if he does not forego his heresies against Lord Dagoth.

I am troubled.

Lord Dagoth, hear me as I call out to you from these most sacred halls desecrated by horrors unknown, walk with me in spirit as I walk in your name. 

Give to me the courage you had to stand up to the Usurpers as they betrayed us all at the Red Mountain.

Cast upon me your protection as a shroud so that I may know I will live again to do your will.

Blessed be your name, Lord Dagoth, and blessed be we who sacrifice in it.

-Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House


	27. Part XXII: Farewell, Eno

**Part XXII: Farewell, Eno**

_By Dagoth Milos, Teacher of the Ash Mystic_

Nevena felt summoned to this place and I followed her out of love and out of duty, even though I knew it stood in memorial to what I thought was my greatest failure, but Sanur does not haunt me as I walk these halls. There is another specter of my past that cuts deeper than he ever could, in life or in death, and that specter is the one who did this. It is my son, Eno. 

I never thought I’d see him again after what happened between his mother and I when he was too small to remember. I was a young man all those years ago and I was making a living as nothing more than as a caravan guard, but it was enough. It was enough for us to have a home and to have a life, but she never trusted that I was loyal to her on those long trips to Ald’ruhn and to Gnisis; she always suspected there was something between Drelthayne and I, but that never was the case. She was always the only woman I ever had eyes for, but she did not believe, because she couldn’t believe. She couldn’t trust that I would never betray her trust as she did mine when she took him from me during one of my runs and left me to a home with no trace of where she had gone. When I held my little boy that one last time before that run, that was the last time I ever saw him, that was the last time I ever laid my eyes upon him before now and now I see the man he has become and I am recoiled with pain. He has become everything I once was and everything I turned Sanur into and I see in him not one ounce of humanity any longer, only an emptiness he can not fill. 

I always thought it was Sanur who was my greatest failure, but to look upon my flesh and blood, my beautiful son, and to see him—broken—as I was and as Sanur was—I cry as I stand here over him with my knife in hand knowing what I must do. But I can’t. I can’t do it. I need to. I know I need to, but I can’t. How can a father be asked to put an end to his son’s life? How? 

He spoke to me that I was the one who destroyed his life.

That it was me who brought about the plague upon the Betrayer’s City and how I and all of the Sixth House would pay for our crimes, but he does not know that it is my pupil who he seeks to extract vengeance from. But it is irrelevant. I can not allow him to do such to the Ash Mystic—not when it is she who will bridge between the Sixth House and the Temple and unify us oncemore. I can’t allow it, but I also can not kill him, even as he lays there, paralyzed by my magics. 

I only wish things had been different—that he wouldn’t have been without me. That I wouldn’t have been without him. But there is no justice in this world, only forgiveness, and I forgive his mother because I must, but my heart hurts worse than it did even as I watched Llevos turn. I have failed you, son. I should have looked harder. I should have been there. I should have done more for you, but I didn’t and now you lay there, waiting to die because I can not let you kill her as much as I may wish I could. As much as I wish things were different. There is simply too much at stake and I see no redemption for you, my son, only the long darkness that I have walked since the Endusal Operation and I can not bare to see you walk that path, even if you are laying a stranger to me. You are still my son and I am still the one who should have been there to protect you, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t there for you, Eno, and I am sorry. There are no words to describe the weight of my guilt for having not kept looking for you, but I have no choice but to protect the Ash Mystic. There is simply too much at stake for you to end her life, my baby boy.

I love you though, Eno.

I love you more than life itself, but I can’t let you bring harm to her—she is too important.

I can’t.

And I will not ask your forgiveness, because there is no forgiveness for this action. There is no justice. There is only the judgment that I will face from myself until I am unmade just as you shall be, but please my son, do not fight it. There is only peace awaiting you and as I look at you and see the signet of the Buoyant Armigers, I know you have earned your peace a thousand times over, it just pains me that you are delivered to it like this. But in the next life, I pray you are given a chance to live the life you should have had—with a father who tries harder to be with you, as I should have.

I love you, son. I love you. You always were my greatest achievement, even if I abandoned you through my own inaction. I hope you carry that with you as you return the emptiness and find your way to the next life; you are the only part of me that was ever good for anything. 

May you find peace, my son, may you find peace.

_-Dagoth Milos, Teacher of the Ash Mystic_


	28. Intermission II, Part I: A Plea for Help

Intermission II, Part I: A Plea for Help

By Dagoth Odros, First Councilor of the Sixth House

Tholer,

I pray this message reaches you and I hope you know the pride I feel in seeing you have risen so far. When news reached me of your ascension, I finally opened that bottle of brandy and had a glass to your good health and your future prosperity, but now I write to you after all these years because there is a shadow over my house and I see within it the potential to grow and be a shadow over us all. I know that my correspondence places you in great danger, but if I do not make every effort to reach out to you, then if my suspicions are correct, then we face a threat far greater than either of our houses—the House of the False Gods or the House of Lord Dagoth—may hope to combat. That is why I write to you and I pray you read this letter and take action, but if you are still the man I knew all those years ago, then I know that you will do what must be done to protect our homeland as you always have.

The Shrine-City of Sanurdipal has fallen and I know that under normal circumstances, you would be unfazed by such news, but it was not your Ordinators or Omayn’s warriors who did this act; it was a lone agent whose name I do not know, but who sends chills down my spine. I felt the deaths of those in the Shrine-City and their final cries into the void were silent. I felt no last gasp or death rattle, only a quieting of voices one-by-one, and whatever it is that has done this, it still lives. I felt another, even after the last of Sanurdipal’s devotees fell and it was Milos. Milos has fallen Tholer and it pains me to know it as I know it does you too, but we must hear his loss and know that it is a call to action for us all.

We must speak in person to discuss this matter, for if it felled Milos, I fear for all of us regardless of which House we are sworn to.

We must put aside our differences and stand together, Tholer. I know you have not forgiven me for what came to pass all those years ago, but I ask you, what do you weigh more heavily? My past failures or our people? I ask this of you, Tholer, because if you will not stand with me, then I will do what I must to save our people—even if it means countless will be consigned to a fate worse than death. I beg of you, not as your teacher, but as your friend, please do not force my hand—you know that it is by my actions alone that Lord Dagoth has been stopped and if we do not stand together against this—this—destroyer—he will ignore counsel and he will do what he must to save our house.

I pray this reaches you, Tholer, and I pray that you weigh what I have said carefully—you know as well as I do what await if we can not stop it.

-Odros


	29. Intermission II, Part II: Meditations

**Intermission II, Part II: Meditations**

_By Archcanon Tholer Saryoni, Patriarch of the Tribunal Temple_

I look at my life and there are some days where I look back and I can still smell the brine of the ocean’s air coming into Gnaar Mok and there are others where it feels like it was a lifetime ago, but some things never feel that far away—even if you wish they did. This letter from Odros, it reminds me that no matter how far I get from my past, I’ll never escape it. I just wish I could, but some things never change and this is a reminder of that. If only I had known then what I do now, I would’ve never spoken to that pretty little girl who got in over her head with things she didn’t understand I’d never have followed her into the dark, but the past is the past and there is nothing I can do to change it. I just have to look back with acceptance, of both my virtues and my sins, and know that through ALMSIVI I am saved from the evils I brought upon myself following Drulyn. 

Normally it does not trouble me as much as it does today, but normally, I do not have a letter from my old teacher upon my desk. 

It is painful to look at. It just draws me back to the days when I was lost in the dark chasing a girl who had long gone blind, but I suppose such things do not matter anymore. I suppose all that matters is that an old friend has called upon me and needs me to help him, but can I? Can I allow myself to walk back into the dark? Should I? 

That is the thing that I have found to be the most difficult part of my service to the Three. It was once simple. I gave sermons to those who needed guidance, food to those who were hungry, and compassion to those who had never felt it, and I was fulfilled by my service. I felt whole in what I was doing and I felt myself becoming absolved of my crimes, but the Temple is an imperfect organization even if it is devoted to perfect beings. I was called on to do more, to be more, to give more, and of these things I did without question and I did them well, but I slowly found myself more and more removed from what it is to be a servant. I became more and more an icon or an idea than an actual person doing good in the world and this holds true even today. 

The Temple hears my words and they adhere to them as they would if they were the words of our gods, but I am no god. I am a mere mortal who is trying to make right the wrongs of his past and as I sit here writing this, looking out at the Holy City, I feel a pit in my stomach and a pain in my heart. Very seldom have I been required to choose between adherence to our traditions and to our doctrine, and to my heart, and it pains me to have to make such a choice when people will look upon my choice and make it their own choice. That is the problem with being a mortal viewed as the voice of a god; I am imperfect, yet they see me as infallible, and thus, they will emulate the choice I make today.

If ever it is discovered my correspondence with Odros, they will think that I have pardoned the crimes of the Sixth House and the heresies they have committed, or they will think that I have fallen to the corruption of the Sixth House when no such thing has happened, but I must chose and I must choose with my heart. I know what it is Odros speaks of; I know what fate will befall our homeland if this destroyer is not stopped and I know that if we do not stand together against it, then countless will suffer eternally as a result of the Sharmat’s reaction and I can not allow this to come to pass. I must not. 

I will write my correspondence to Odros and hope it reaches him as his reached me. 

May ALMSIVI cast their light upon me as I venture into the Dark oncemore and may they forgive me for my sins. I pray they understand that this time, it is not about a pretty little girl—it is about all of us. It is about everyone who calls my home their own, from the fishermen of Gnaar Mok to the pilgrims of Molag Mar to the Telvanni of Sadrith Mora—we all stand to lose everything if this destroyer is not stopped. I only pray that we are fast enough to put an end to him, lest the Sharmat unleash his horrible curse upon my people—and I will not stand idly by, for no matter how many people may see me as a figure and the voice of gods, I am still a servant and that is what I must do. I must serve my people as I always have, even if it means doing what I fear the most.

_-Archcanon Tholer Saryoni, Patriarch of the Tribunal Temple_


	30. Intermission II, Part III: Reunion

**Intermission II, Part III: Reunion**

_By Archcanon Tholer Saryoni, Patriarch of the Tribunal Temple_

Odros,

Your words move me, Odros, but that is of no surprise to you, is it? You always had that pull about you and I have always been willing to hear you out, even now, when you ask me to betray everything I have devoted to since you exiled me at the Red Mountain, but I will not refuse you, not as you refused me, Odros. That is the difference between us. I stood behind you always and you stood behind me when it was convenient, but discarded of me once it ceased to be. So know that I will help you, but know that it is not out of any misguided sense of loyalty or friendship but out of necessity.

I will make arrangements and I will disappear into the night, just as I did back then, but when all is said and done, know that we are not friends and do not appeal to such notions again or you may find they do not work as they once did. I will meet you in three weeks’ time at Hassour and I trust that I will face no opposition from Fovon or the others. 

If there is even an ounce of doubt about their intentions towards me, I will leave at once and I will have Hassour razed to the ground and the heads of every cultist put on pikes as a warning to those who would follow in their path.

Do not betray me as you did before, Odros. I trust your words are honest, but I also trust that things change and you were willing to sacrifice me once and I very much believe that has not changed, but as I said, if you should make that mistake again, there will be consequences. Against my better judgment, I have stayed the Ordinators and to a lesser extent, the Buoyant Armigers, because I believe what happened in the City Below was not the fault of the House, but know this, Odros, I am the hand that holds the leash of the dogs of war, and should anything to that hand, the dogs will rip and tear and mangle anything they get ahold of. I ask you to weigh that heavily as you decide what actions to take at Hassour, Odros. You will not wrong me as you did before—I swear this to you.

_-Tholer_


	31. Intermission II, Part IV: Ignorance

**Intermission II, Part IV: Ignorance**

_By Dagoth Odros, First Councilor of the Sixth House_

Ignorance is an evil that is greater than any other and that is why it pains me so much to see that even in his old age, Tholer still has not dispelled this evil from himself, despite his certainty in having done just that. He still blames me for what happened. He’ll always blame me though. He’ll always look at me and see the one who sent him away, who took his family and his house from him, because he doesn’t realize that his head laid on the executioner’s block and it was only by my intervention that he was spared the axe as it was coming down on him. But that is okay. He may hate me for the rest of his life and possibly even longer, but I will hold no ill will towards him, even as he curses my name and wishes only a thousand hells befall me. For when I look upon him, even only within my mind’s eye, I do not see the arrogance—I do not see the self-righteousness or the claims to moral superiority—I only see the young man who stood before me all those years ago.

He was such a different man all those years ago.

He was young. Naïve. Idealistic. And yet, there was so much more to him that the world never saw. He came into our house with one thing on his mind and it was not enlightenment, it was not transcendence, it wasn’t even who we are—it was that his heart skipped a beat when he looked at Drulyn Hlaalo, one of our agents operating out of Gnaar Mok. He didn’t know the first thing about the Sixth House other than we weren’t held in much acclaim in his little part of the world, but he didn’t care as he found out more either. He only cared about that girl and what it took to win her heart. 

Many looked upon him with a less than dim view and I must confess, I did too initially. I deemed him all of those aforementioned traits and one more: Stupid. But he wasn’t stupid. That is one thing I can say about Tholer Saryoni: he is not and never has been—stupid. I didn’t realize that until Drulyn fell out of favor and she suffered the fate they all suffer when their usefulness has expired. He felt he had gone too far to turn back and clung to the House for dear life, because he was afraid to go back. He couldn’t dream of it or even grasp the notion anymore, because when he looked at his own reflection, he saw only a monster because he had aligned himself with the enemies of his old faith. Some say he should have been put to death for harboring such views, because they meant a lack of loyalty to the House, but others did not agree so much with that. Milos didn’t though and at the time, Milos and I were—contemporaries—of a sort. We would frequently find ourselves discussing the future of the House over brandy and these discussions would trail long into the night and though we seldom found common ground, we always saw through the other’s eyes and that’s why he stood up for Tholer all those years ago, even though he never considered him much more than a pompous child. 

Milos saw in him a different man than I saw, but the man he saw, pompous and child-like though it may have been—was still a man with thoughts that could shake the foundations of our house. Tholer always had that potential in him. He was a visionary and even today, he is a visionary, but he never truly learned humility and that will always be his downfall. If only he had realized that despite his brilliance, he was still a mere man, he would have become so much more than he has—he would have risen the highest of heights and stood amongst the Council as an equal, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t accept that he didn’t know it all. He couldn’t set aside the smug self-righteousness he would beat others down with and that is why I had to send him away, as much as it pained me. 

He blames me for sending him away. He always has, he always will, and I will always let him, because he can’t remove himself from the sense of betrayal he feels. For all his gifts and blessings, he lacks self-awareness—and it pains me. It pains me in the same way it pains a father to see his son become crippled or a teacher to hear his student will never reach their potential, because the boy who chased Drulyn wasn’t like this. He was an open book waiting to be written in and he absorbed our culture just as we absorbed him into our house and he had potential beyond comprehension, but after Drulyn was dealt with, he reclused even more than he more than he already had and no longer did he see me as his friend and mentor—he saw me as the face of the ones who took from him the woman of his dreams. He grew angry. He grew hateful. He came to despise everything we stood for, because she was gone.

He didn’t know her. He never did. She never loved him, despite the sweet lies she whispered into his ear as they laid naked beneath the stars. The woman he saw wasn’t real. She never was. She was an elaborate ruse she had constructed just to lure him in and even now, he hasn’t seen through it. I wish he had. I wish he could, but he can’t or maybe he won’t—but either way it does not matter. 

The young man who stood before me all those years ago and asked if I would teach him about the House—that man has been dead since Drulyn died and I mourn his death every day, because he was perhaps the greatest thing that could have ever happened to us. He looked at us with an objective view and judged us not according to his own sensibilities, but according to what made sense. He saw within us weakness and he would voice it, and we would correct it. He spoke without fear or hate, only a desire to be of use, and I would die a thousand deaths to have that unbiased honesty once more, but such gifts come only once in a lifetime, even one that stretches across eras.

I drink to you, Tholer. I drink to the man you were and to the man you are, and with hopes, that in time, those two will not be so different, but I know such hopes are in vain, but they are all that an old man has in these trying times. So this glass is to you, my old friend, may your travels to Hassour be safe and may we meet again as friends. 

_-Dagoth Odros, First Councilor of the Sixth House_


	32. Intermission II, Part V: A Summit at Hassour

**Intermission II, Part V: A Summit at Hassour**

_By Dagoth Fovon, High Priest of Hassour_

My congregants stir with unease as I lurk within the confines of my chamber. It is rare I am away from them this long, but my heart beats with rage and my vision is red as I hear that Lord Odros has invited the Traitor to walk amongst my disciples. He asks me to allow no harm to come to him, but he turned his back on us when he could no longer face the divine light that Lord Dagoth brings. He betrayed us all and fled like a dog and now he wishes to walk into my home and speak as a friend when he is no friends, he is nothing but a liar and a deceiver! I would gut him myself if Lord Odros’ orders were not so clear and thus I must suffer him, a snake in my home, and I must do so with a grin, but I worry my teeth will break before a grin cracks across my face. 

He walked amongst our house and we welcomed him as a brother, but he turned his back on us and went crawling into the hands of the False Gods. He denounced us as his brethren and his family because he found himself sickened by the gifts of Lord Dagoth and now he wants to come and speak to us now that he has found the lies of his new family too sweet to stomach any longer? How dare he! HOW DARE HE! HE SHOULD BE RIPPED APART LIMB BY LIMB NOT WELCOMED INTO MY HOME AS AN HONORED GUEST! HE IS NO GUEST! HE IS A BETRAYER AND THE MOUTH OF THE LIAR-GODS! 

But I must accept him. I must. I have no choice, for Lord Odros has requested this of me and I am not one to deny the requests of my betters, but surely he understands the weight of what it is he asks. Surely he recognizes that to ask me to not only stay my blade but to stay those of my disciples, it is a request of the highest order. But it’s one I must follow, even though it ignites a fire in m that burns hotter than the heart of the Red Mountain. I only wish Lord Odros would allow my blade to slip and I could do to this traitor what it is he deserves for his crimes and his betrayal, but I can’t—no matter how much I wish I could.

It doesn’t matter though.

I just pray that Lord Odros sees the light and that we may extract justice from the traitor’s flesh.

_-Dagoth Fovon, High Priest of Hassour_


	33. Intermission II, Part VI: The Hundredth Child

**Intermission II, Part VI: The Hundredth Child**

_By Archcanon Tholer Saryoni, Patriarch of the Tribunal Temple_

There have been many points in my life where I have asked if I am a good man and for the first time in my life, I have an answer that I know to be true. I am not. I am a monster as much as Odros, as much as Fovon, as much as all of these damned souls who shamble about the halls of this place, but I know that what I do is not done out of aspirations of glory or accolades, but because it is necessary, but even that does not help me in these trying times. I must do something that goes against everything I once thought to be true, against everything I believed to be right: I must be the one to unleash the Hundredth Child.

Many argue about the truth behind Lord Vivec’s lessons and whether or not they are metaphor or literal, but the sordid affair between Lord Vivec and the King of Rape did come to pass and Vivec did indeed spawn ninety-nine monsters. They did walk the earth and they brought about a wake of destruction not unlike the Destroyer’s, but Lord Vivec did slay ninety-nine of them. However, the books are wrong in their claim that there were ninety-nine; there were one-hundred and he vanquished all of them except for the First, a monster so great that even he could not bring about its end. So he did what he had to do and he sealed it deep beneath the surface and erected the Holy City above it to ensure that the prison of his child would forever be consecrated to ensure it never escaped, but now more than ever do we need of it and now more than ever do I fear for the world.

ALMSIVI forgive me, but I will do what I must to save my people. 

There is no alternative, not if I am to stop the Destroyer, so I pray you will watch over me as I return to the Holy City and tread upon ground that has not been touched for millennia.

_-Archcanon Tholer Saryoni, Patriarch of the Tribunal Temple_


	34. Intermission II, Part VII: Freeing Kata Nu

**Intermission II, Part VII: Freeing Kata Nu**

_By Archcanon Tholer Saryoni, Patriarch of the Tribunal Temple_

I travel beneath the Holy City and beneath the City Below into a place that defies my understanding of what is real and what is not. Ancient warding spells still glow with energy in this place, but it is not like anything I’ve ever seen before. The architecture curves in ways that I can only describe as non-Euclidean and the material is like nothing else I’ve ever seen before; it is stone, but some kind of stone that doesn’t exist anywhere but here and as I brush my fingers against it, I feel it draining what I have of my strength and my mental reserves ever so slightly. Whatever this is, it’s not natural; it’s something—wrong. Something created just to hold the Hundredth Child and to prevent it from ever becoming strong enough to escape and that gives me pause for concern, but what choice do I have? The Destroyer carves a path through our home and he will punch through the Ghostgate and into the heart of the Red Mountain and the Sharmat’s fury will cover Morrowind in storms that will leave us broken and hollow, begging for the sweet release of death, but is this really a better option?

Kata Nu isn’t even mentioned in the Lessons because he is a monster best left forgotten, but here I sit in the heart of the labyrinthine corridors that form his prison and I meditate. I do not pray in this most foul place. There is no point. My prayers would rattle around these twisting halls forever until there was nothing left and only then would they have any hope of reaching the ears of Lord Vehk, but they will not. And even if they did, does it matter? Does it matter how far my prayers run when I stand here a traitor to everything I once believed? Would ALMSIVI even listen or would my prayers fall on deaf ears? I suppose it doesn’t matter, because what matters now is that I reach Kata Nu before the Destroyer reaches the Ghostgate. 

I just hope that I am not making a great mistake, but it doesn’t matter. The time for decision making, for thought, for really anything besides action—that time has passed and now I must free Kata Nu from his prison and I can only hope ALMSIVI will forgive me and that in doing this, I do not damn my people to a worse fate than that posed by Dagoth Ur, but the time for action is now, so whoever finds this diary, know that I died here freeing Kata Nu not as an act of malice or hatred, but because I had no choice but to. I had to do it or else everyone I’ve ever known will be ravaged by the Sharmat’s Great Blight and they will suffer eternally in the legions of the Lost. So for that reason, I am unleashing the Devourer and I hope that you understand that all that I have done has always been done with the greatest of intentions.

Forgive me, ALMSIVI.

Forgive me.

_­-Archcanon Tholer Saryoni, Patriarch of the Tribunal Temple_


	35. Part XXIII: Freedom

**Part XXIII: Freedom**

_By Kata Nu, the Devourer and Singer of the Great Swansong_

My body is stiff as I come to move muscles that I have not moved in millennia. I try to walk, but the thousand legs that slither about do not move as they once did. They are hungry. Starved. But I still need them to work even though I can not feed them yet. I must not. Even though the Priest—his very scent is—mouthwatering. Every one of my thousand mouths readies to liquefy his flesh and I can not deny the temptation is moving, but he has given me the greatest of all gifts: Freedom. 

He fears me and I smell it. Intoxicating is the smell of the sweat on his neck as he watches my every movement, wondering which movement will bring about the end of his miserable life, but his fears are misplaced. Though I wish I could allow myself to justify them. Oh how I wish I could. How great it would be to hear the snap of tendons just once more, and I will, but that time is not yet. Not until I come to pass someone—or something—besides the Priest whose flesh would sate this ungodly hunger. Oh, how I can not wait. 

The Priest is concerned though. He begs of me not to storm about my mother’s city—the one which she erected over my prison as some form of lock or perhaps as a monument to her victory over me. Every part of me seethes with rage and feels—invigorated—at the prospect of painting her city red with the blood of those who see her as worthy of worship, but the Priest does as well. He sees her as worthy. He tends to her. He is misguided, but he has done me a great gift and so I must stay my rage, even though it is justified. But his gift—it was not done out of kindness, but out of necessity, he says.

He speaks of some ‘destroyer’—some great monster who poses a threat to the land as if it should concern me. It doesn’t. But I do have a debt to the Priest and I do believe that consuming this ‘destroyer’ would put us as even, and then, then I could dine on his flesh. Then I could storm my mother built above my head and I could enjoy their screams, the sweat of fear dripping from their skin, the pain of their bones breaking as the flesh is sucked into my thousand mouths! Ah, the idea, it is—delectable. I can not help but savor it as a beautiful thought that I must help come to fruition, for the idea alone fills me with joy—the realization of it—that—that would be euphoric. So I hope the Priest prays that this destroyer does kill me, because if it does not, then I will enjoy the feast I have long, long awaited.

_-Kata Nu, the Devourer and Singer of the Great Swansonga_


	36. Part XXIV: Nevena's Apologies

**Part XXIV: Nevena’s Apologies**

_By Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House_

I felt them die, one-by-one, at Sanurdipal. I felt their voices go silent forever and I felt their hearts stop one last time, but even a thousand voices going silent paled in comparison to one voice going silent: Milos’ voice. I felt him die and I knew I would when he told me to run, but I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to lose him, but I would’ve died right by him if I had stayed. I would be dead right now if I would’ve defied him, just like he is, but a part of me wishes that is how things went down, but it’s not. He’s gone. He’s gone forever and there was nothing I could do to save him and it hurts. Everything hurts as I think about him; we didn’t know each other for that long, a year at most, and yet he held more sway over my heart than anyone ever has before and I can’t help it—I miss him. I miss him more than anything.

He was there for me when no one else was. He was there for me when I called out to any and all who would hear me, but none did. Cerebel did not. Lord Dagoth did not. But Milos, he came to me, and he saved me from myself. He gave me purpose. He gave me a life. He gave me—everything—and how did I thank him for all that he gave me? I ran. I ran as hard as I could and as fast as I could when Eno set upon us with a look of sucking emptiness in his eyes—not hatred—something else. Something—worse. But I knew when I locked my eyes with his that the man I once knew back in Balmora, that wasn’t him anymore—that was somebody who died a long time ago, and now—now there was just this—this—shell. This husk of a man with a vendetta and a sword which carved through flesh and steel alike in much the same manner as a hot knife through butter and all I could do was run. That’s all I did. I ran. And now he’s gone. Now my mentor, my teacher, my best friend—my only friend—is gone. Because I ran.

I’m sorry, Milos.

I’m sorry I left you.

I’m sorry I wasn’t the student you deserved and I’m sorry I dragged you to Sanurdipal. You were right. You were always right—about everything—and I—I just kept dragging you with me. I kept asking you to follow my lead even though you knew it was the wrong to take, but you didn’t want me to go alone, so you came with—and now you’re gone. I’m sorry, Milos. I’m so sorry. 

But my apologies—they won’t change anything, will they? 

They won’t change the fact that you’re gone or that I ran; they won’t even change how I feel. They’re just empty words I’m speaking into the void to try to cope with the fact that you’re gone and that if I had just listened—if I had just listened one time—maybe you wouldn’t be gone, but it’s too late for that. And I don’t know if you’re out there—or what happened to you, Milos—but I want you to know something, I’m going to make it. I promise you, Milos, your sacrifice will not be in vain. I swear this to you. 

I just hope that—wherever you are—you know that. I hope you know that I will be everything you saw in me the potential to be. I will become everything you wanted to be and I hope that you know that. Wherever you are, I hope you know that.

I love you, Milos.

I loved you since we met in the Undercity; I loved you since the day you took me under your wing and taught me how to come to accept who I was becoming. You were—the father I never had, Milos, and I only wish I had told you that before I lost you. You were there for me when nobody else was and you never gave up on me, even when I did on you, and I—I love you, Milos. I hope you can forgive me for not being the daughter you deserved, even though I don’t deserve it, but I promise you—I will do right by you. I must do right by you.

I will reach the Red Mountain and not even Eno will stop me.

_­_ I swear it to you, Milos. I will do it. Even if only for you.

_-Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House_


	37. Part XXV: A New Order

**Part XXV: A New Order**

_By Umbra (Formerly Eno Dralam)_

I have heard from their twisted mouths the cries of fear as they recognize who I am—what I am. I am the Destroyer of Sanurdipal! I am the Breaker of the Sixth House! I am the one who will tear apart the False Houses brick-by-brick and stone-by-stone! I am more than any mortal has ever dreamt of being and all that I am is from this sword—this sword blacker than night which speaks to me as a mentor, a friend, and a guide as we march towards the Red Mountain. We will break the House that attacked the City of Vivec! We will destroy them, one-by-one until there are none left to face me, and when they are gone, I will go for the False Gods who claim to care for us but abandoned my soldiers as we marched in their name. I will take from them a pound of flesh for every drop of blood my men gave in their name! I will get justice! I will bring about a new order to my home and it will be by this blade that I do it! I WILL REMAKE MORROWIND IN MY IMAGE! I SWEAR IT! I SWEAR IT ON THIS BLADE AND ON ALL THAT I AM! THIS IS MY DIVINE RIGHT AND I WILL SEIZE IT!

NO LONGER WILL WE ANSWER TO LIARS!

TO DECEIVERS!

WE WILL STAND AS A FREE PEOPLE!

WE WILL DESTROY THE INTERLOPERS!

WE WILL EXPEL THE IMPERIALS!

MORROWIND WILL BE FOREVER FREED AND I WILL BE THE ONE TO USHER ABOUT THIS NEW ERA AND THIS BLADE WILL GIVE ME THE STRENGTH TO DO IT! LET IT BE WRITTEN THAT ON THIS DAY, I DECLARE IT THE FIRST DAY OF MY NEW EMPIRE! LET IT BE WRITTEN THAT ON THIS DAY, I BEGIN MY CONQUEST AND I WILL BREAK THE FOUNDATIONS WE HAVE STOOD UPON FOR MILLENNIA SO THAT WE MAY CREATE A GREATER FOUNDATION THAT WILL STAND AN ETERNITY! I DECLARE IT! MY PEOPLE WILL BE FREED THE INJUSTICES THEY HAVE SUFFERED! THEY WILL KNOW FREEDOM AND WE WILL RULE OUR HOMELAND AS WE ALWAYS SHOULD HAVE! 

To my people, the rivers will run red with blood and the skies will weep the same in sorrow for all that will be spilt, but that is a small price to pay for the gift I am granting all of you. For too long, we have been blinded. We have been kept in the dark by the Tribunal and by the Sixth House, but that ends today, my beloved kinsmen. I will break the shackles they have put on us and I promise you—never again will you know the injustices you have endured. They all will die, because they stand in the way of our home—of our future. 

I swear this to each and every one of you.

To the mother I lost, I will be the man you always knew I could be.

To the woman I loved, I will give you a most merciful end, but I can not let you live—you are—an evil—an evil I can’t allow to come into the future I envision—and though it pains me—you will die. Just as all the others who oppose me will.

To the father I killed, I do not know what it was about killing you, Milos, but I feel—invigorated—I feel whole. Satisfied. And I thank you for that and I pray wherever you go, you are rewarded for giving me the clarity I needed, because now—now I will do what you never could.

Stay strong, my brethren, stay strong—the future is bright and I will bring it to you, but first, I must slay the monsters that hold us back.

_­-Umbra, Liberator of the Dunmer_


	38. Part XXVI: Kogoruhn

**Part XXVI: Kogoruhn**

_By Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House_

The days move slower without Milos’ lessons to break up the monotony of walking. He would always make sure that when we took breaks to eat, that they would be used as much for education as for sustenance. I guess it’s just one of the things I never really appreciated back when he was still alive. It’s been—I don’t even know how long—since everything happened at Sanurdipal and the emptiness in my heart, it hasn’t gone away. It just clings to it like a web and no matter how much I try to bat it away, it won’t go. And I know it won’t. I just wish I could have a break from it, but I can’t. Perhaps this is my penance for having abandoned him—maybe if I hadn’t left him then things would’ve gone differently. Maybe it would’ve been Eno who died, not him. But these thoughts—these hypotheticals—they don’t matter. What’s done is done and now he’s gone. I only wish I could change the past, but nobody can—no matter how much they wish they could.

But I know regardless of everything that has happened, he would be proud of me as I gaze upon the grand fortress of Kogoruhn. I can’t deny that looking upon it leaves me awestruck and as I sit out here, composing myself before my descent into the bowels of this place and into the Red Mountain itself, I feel a sickness from this place. What I feel here isn’t what I expected. It is hot like the warmth of a festering wound and the voices I hear of my brethren are not like those of Sanurdipal or Milos. There is something wrong here. Deeply wrong. But I have no choice but to brave the depths of this place if I am to reach the Red Mountain and Dagoth Ur.

There is something more wrong than this place though and I feel it. It is Uthol. Even from here, I feel his mere presence eating at me. It hurts. My skin feels hot, my blood feels cold, I feel bumps starting to form all along my body. I fear what is to come as I delve into this place, but I must reach Lord Dagoth. I must. Only through him will I become what it is that Milos saw in me and I will not fail Milos, not again.

_-Dagoth Nevena, Acolyte of the Sixth House_


	39. Part XXVII: Shattered Minds

**Part XXVII: Shattered Minds**

_By the Ash Mystic (neé Dagoth Nevena)_

I have stepped foot into something beyond imagination or comprehension and the chorus of thoughts that dances across my mind only adds to the daze which has befallen me since I stepped foot within these long forgotten halls. In another life, this would have been my greatest achievement. The highest accolades of both my order and the Temple would have been bestowed upon me, but I do not believe I ever could have been ready in that life or any other but the one I lead today for what it is I experience at this moment. The air is alive with the god-like power vested in Uthol and the tingling running up and down my spine grows with every step deeper into this place. This place could very well be my tomb, but I mustn’t stop—not only because of my promise to Milos, but because I must gaze upon the source of this—this—power. 

But though I am awestruck by what I feel as I trek through these dark corridors, so too are the inhabitants by me. I cast my writhing mass of a gaze upon them and I look into them in ways they’ve never been looked into before. I see them at their core—beneath the Divine Disease, beneath who they were, beneath even their fundamental most personality and sense of self—I see them and they know I see them. They know I look through them in the same way a seer looks through the ripples of time and for a fraction of a moment, they are free.

They are free of the trappings of flesh and mind; they simply are. They are everything. They are nothing. They see what it is I saw when Cerebel looked upon me and I feel their ties to Uthol eroding as I trek through these profane halls. I feel their thoughts twisting. Warping. Becoming free. No longer do they sing in the chorus that deafens me with, but instead, their minds join in the cacophony of shattering minds, just as mine did back at Kirinibbi. This is my purpose. This is what I was made for and as I look upon the countless brothers and sisters of my house whose minds crack like glass by my mere presence, I see the beginnings of Milos’ vision of a new house. 

Though I can no longer hear their thoughts break like glass, I can feel the atmosphere change as they look upon me with the same awe and wonder that I once looked upon Cerebel with. I say nothing to them, for I am without a mouth or even a head any longer—just the proboscides which have attuned me to the psionic waves of Lord Dagoth. It will not be long before I reach the Heartwight and I pray that our meeting does not end in bloodshed, but if he forces my hand, then so be it. The Sixth House will be remade in Milos’ image and I will not fail him again.

_-Dagoth Nevena_


	40. Chapter 40

**Part XVIII: Red Mountain Under Siege**

_By the Ash Mystic_

I came to this place with simple goals of reforming this house in Milos’ image. I had a simple dream. I wanted to do right by my mentor and my friend, but it seems the gods have conspired against me to deny my friend his dying wish and that pains me more than a thousand deaths could. Uthol and his forces have already headed out to try and slow the rampage of the man I once knew and the monster from the bowels of Vivec. They will die and their deaths will only slow the two of them by mere moments, because they are not meant to handle monsters of this caliber—I’m not even sure I am, but my house is under siege and everything has built up to this moment—to this conflict.

I feel the ground quake with every step of the Great Devourer and I feel the silencing of a thousand voices as Eno cuts his way through those of Uthol’s forces who I didn’t shatter. Every moment I sit here writing is another moment those two get closer to each other and when they do, I fear for us all. I fear for what Lord Dagoth will unleash to stop them and I fear for us all. This is truly the end times, but I can not go out there just yet. I need a few more moments to collect my thoughts, to compose them, to write them down, because this—this will be my last entry. When I set this old journal down, it will be for the last time, because—I won’t survive this. As much as Milos has taught me, as much as I’ve learned, as powerful as I’ve become since he died—I still am—trapped. Trapped like Cerebel was and when I go out there, I will undo them both, but in doing so, I will undo myself, and that scares me. 

That scares me more than anything.

It scares me more than losing Milos.

It scares me more than when those thugs in Balmora beat me bloody.

It scares me more than the first time Eno told me he loved me.

But that’s the thing about life, isn’t it? Sometimes you have to do the things that scare you. Milos always did the things that scared him, like when he found me in the Undercity and he put down his knife long enough to hear me talk. He saw a scared little girl and he could’ve cut me down right there, but he didn’t. He listened to me. He heard me. And he loved me and I think that scared him more than anything else he had ever done up to that point.

And you know, as I look through this journal, I realize I’m not the woman who set out for Kirinibbi a year and a half ago. So much has changed since then and though my old friends would look upon me and see only a monster, I look at my reflection and I see for the first time who I was really meant to be. For the first time in my life, I don’t have to ask if I’m doing the right thing or if I should be a better person. I don’t have to wonder if my family would be proud of me, I know Milos is, wherever he is. I don’t have to be afraid anymore—this is what my life has been building up to. This is what my story has been about and now it’s time to finish it, once and for all.

Whoever finds this, I want you to know that I do this for you and for everyone who calls this land their home. Just as Milos loved me unconditionally, so too do I love you, and you are why I will march out there knowing I will not come back. 

I suppose this is farewell, dear reader. Blessings of the Sixth House and the Tribunal upon you and your house. May DAGOTH and ALMSIVI guide your path.

_-Dagoth Nevena_


End file.
